IN  THE  TOILS; 


OR, 


Martyrs  of  the  Latter  Days, 


MRS.  A.  G.   PADDOCK. 


CHICAGO  : 

DIXON    &   SHEPARD. 

1879. 


Copyright  1879,  by 
DIXON    &    SHEPARD. 
(A  II  Rights  Reserved.) 


GEORGE  J.  TITUS,  STHRKOTVI-RD  BY 

BOOK  AND  JOB  PRINTER    tig  LAKH  ST.,  CHICAGO    STEREOTYPE    WORK' 

CHICAGO.     .  85  &  87  Kifth  Ave,,  CHICAGO. 


PREFACE. 

"Of  making  many  books  there  is  no  end."  Solomon  speaks  in 
the  present  tense,  implying  that  even  in  his  day  a  great  multitude 
which  no  man  could  number,  burned  with  ambition  to  see  their 
names — on  papyrus  let  us  say.  If  Solomon  spake  thus  of  his  own 
era,  what  would  he  have  said  could  his  prophetic  soul  have  pro 
jected  itself  into  the  nineteenth  century! 

Surely,  to-day,  whoever  inflicts  an  additional  volume  upon  a 
long-suffering  public,  ought  to  be  able  to  set  up  an  unassailable 
plea  in  justification  thereof. 

The  present  writer  feels  the  full  force  of  this  obligation,  and  de 
sires  briefly  to  explain  the  raison  if  etre  of  the  book  now  offered  to 
the  reader. 

When  you  and  I  were  studying  geography,  a  large  section  of  the 
map  of  the  United  States,  including  the  greater  portion  of  the  ter 
ritory  lying  between  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  the  Pacific  Slope, 
was  covered  with  little  dots  and  conveniently  labeled,  "  Great 
American  Desert." 

It  is  not  always  easy  to  outgrow  the  traditions  of  our  youth,  and 
to  multitudes  whom  neither  business  nor  pleasure  has  taken  across 
the  continent,  the  Great  Desert  is  yet  a  reality — but  what  a  surprise 
awaits  them  when  they  do  make  that  long-deferred  journey. 

The  Desert  is  a  land,  rich  in  rivers  and  fountains,  "  a  land  that 
drinketh  water  of  the  rains  of  heaven,"  a  land  whose  mountains  are 
store-houses  of  gold  and  silver,  whose  ranges  are  covered  with  count 
less  flocks  and  herds,  and  whose  valleys  teem  with  luxuriant  vege 
tation.  And  here,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  traditional  waste  of 
sand,  upon  the  shores  of  the  American  Dead  Sea,  lies  a  valley  filled 
to  the  brim  with  living  verdure,  and  manifold  blossoms,  and  rich 
with  the  promise  of  the  coming  harvest. 


2./~> 
U< 


4  PREFACE. 

The  Zion  built  up  in  these  valleys  of  the  mountains,  is  like  Zion 
of  old,  beautiful  for  situation,  but  alas!  there  is  a  crimson  stain  on 
every  fair  picture  upon  which  the  eye  rests,  and  over  the  whole 
lovely  landscape  hangs  the  shadow  of  hideous  crimes.  The  pioneers 
of  Utah  were  the  apostles  of  a  religion  built  upon  a  foundation  of 
lust  and  blood,  and  the  annals  of  the  people  they  led,  are  black 
with  the  record  of  deeds  that  disgrace  humanity,  done  in  the  name 
of  God.  *  *  *  * 

Only  a  few  weeks  ago  the  telegraph  flashed  over  the  country  the 
news  of  a  most  brutal  murder — a  little  child  killed  by  her  father's 
hand.  The  deed  was  rendered  doubly  hideous  by  the  sacreligious 
plea  that  it  was  done  in  obedience  to  a  Divine  command,  and  out 
raged  justice  at  once  demanded  that  the  murderer  should  be  held  to 
answer  with  his  life  for  his  unnatural  crime ;  but  here  crimes  al 
most  without  number,  that  in  magnitude  and  atrocity  surpass  the 
murder  of  little  Edith,  have  been  committed  in  the  name  of  relig 
ion,  and  no  voice  is  raised  to  demand  the  punishment  of  the  perpe 
trators.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  elected  to  offices  of  trust  and 
authority,  they  make  and  administer  our  laws,  and  hurl  defiance 
at  the  government,  whose  subjects  they  are  supposed  to  be. 

The  people,  leaders  and  led  alike,  not  only  live  in  open  and  con 
stant  violation  of  decency  and  good  morals,  of  the  laws  of  God  and 
man,  but  to  show  their  contemptuous  disregard  of  Christian  mar 
riage,  and  of  the  laws  which  hedge  it  round,  they  send  as  delegate 
to  the  Congress  of  the  United  States  a  man  who  keeps  a  harem  of 
polygamous  wives,  and  who  boasts  that  he  will  compel  our  law 
makers  to  recognize  his  right  to  do  so.  They  have  tacitly  made  this 
acknowledgment  by  allowing  him  to  sit  among  them  for  six  years 
past,  and  now  he  waits  in  hope  for  the  fruition  of  these  years  of 
effort;  the  passage  of  an  Act  legalizing  polygamy,  or,  failing  in 
this,  the  admission  of  Utah  as  a  State,  with  full  power  to  regulate 
her  o\vn  internal  affairs,  which  means,  as  we  who  live  here  know 
full  well,  power  to  remove  all  obstacles  in  the  way  of  carrying 
out  the  principles  of  Blood  Atonement  and  Celestial  Marriage. 

The  book  herewith  presented  to  the  public,  claims  to  show  some 
of  the  fruits  of  these  principles,  as  exemplified  in  the  past  history 


PREFACE.  5 

of  this  people,  but  it  deals  only  with  the  least  repulsive  and  shock 
ing  facts  in  that  history.  Scores  of  incidents  properly  belonging  to 
the  story  I  have  told,  I  have  suppressed  as  unfit  for  publication. 
Multitudes  of  facts  that  have  come  under  my  own  observation  dur 
ing  my  long  residence  among  this  people,  I  dare  not  commit  to 
paper.  I  have  listened  with  feelings  of  sickening  horror  to  the  re 
citals  of  those  who  have  suffered  most  from  the  workings  of  this 
abominable  system  miscalled  religion,  but  I  cannot  give  their  story 
to  the  world. 

The  characters  of  the  story  told  in  this  book  are  real,  the  incidents 
are  true,  but  I  have  told  only  a  small  part  of  the  truth. 

A  complete  history  of  the  dwellers  in  these  "  valleys  of  the  moun 
tains  "  will  never  be  written,  nor  will  the  crimes  hidden  under  all 
their  outward  be?.uty  ever  be  disclosed  until  the  day  when  every 
hidden  thing  shall  be  brought  to  light  and  the  bloody  graves  of 
Utah  give  up  their  dead. 

The  leaders  of  this  people  and  their  sympathizers  in  the  East, 
are  wont  to  say  "Why  are  those  whose  homes  have  not  been 
invaded  by  polygamy  the  first  to  cry  out  against  it?  What  business 
is  it  of  theirs  ?  " 

I  leave  other  writers  to  reply  to  this  question  for  themselves 
My  own  answer  is:  "It  is  my  business  because  I  am  a  woman, 
and  polygamy  degrades  my  sex  below  the  level  of  humanity;  be 
cause  I  am  a  wife,  and  polygamy  makes  that  sacred  name  a  by 
word  ;  because  I  am  a  mother,  and  polygamy  makes  maternity  a 
curse,  and  puts  the  brand  of  shame  on  the  innocent  foreheads  of 
little  children.  And  I  am  not  alone  in  the  determination  to  make 
this  cause  my  own.  There  is  a  band  of  noble  Christian  workers 
here  who  are  pledged  not  to  intermit  their  efforts  "  until,"-  as 
Whittier  wrote  of  the  other  twin-relic  of  barbarism,  "  this  evil  plant, 
which  our  Heavenly  Father  hath  not  planted,  whose  roots  have 
wound  themselves  about  altar  and  hearthstone,  and  whose  branches, 
like  those  of  the  tree  Al  Accoub  in  Moslem  fable,  bear  every  ac 
cursed  fruit,  shall  be  torn  up  and  destroyed  forever." 

THE  AUTHOR. 

Salt  Lake  June  14,  1879 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

It  is  due  to  the  author  to  state  that,  owing  to  the  distance  of  her  home 
from  the  place  of  publication  it  has  been  impossible  for  her  to  read  the  proof- 
sheets  of  the  book,  and  that,  therefore,  any  typographical  errors  that  may  be 
found  herein,  are  to  be  charged  to  the  compositor  or  proof-reader  and  not  to 
her. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


IN  THE  TOILS: 

OR 
MARTYRS  OF  THE  LATTER  DAYS. 

PART  I. 


IN    THE    TOILS 

OR 

MARTYRS  OF  THE  LATTER  DAYS. 
PART  I.— CHAPTER  i. 

THE      HAPPY     HOME. — THE      MYSTERIOUS     STRANGER. — PRE 
SENTIMENTS. 

It  was  a  cloudy,  chilly  evening  in  May,  such  as  often 
follows  a  day  of  the  brightest  sunshine  in  our  uncertain 
climate.  The  wind  roughly  shook  the  tender  leaves  of  the 
young  birches  and  maples,  and  moaned  like  an  Autumn 
blast  among  the  pines  and  hemlocks  on  the  hill.  The  whole 
landscape  looked  colorless  and  cheerless  under  the  dull 
gray  sky,  but  in  the  foreground  a  human  habitation  lent  to 
the  picture  something  of  the  warmth  of  the  life  within. 

The  house  substantially  built  of  hewn  stone,  surrounded 
by  trim  fences  and  neatly  painted  outbuildings,  was  evidently 
the  abode  of  comfort  and  plenty,  while  the  climbing  rose- 
trees  and  honeysuckles  covering  the  porch,  the  carefully- 
tended  flower  beds  bordering  the  walks,  and  the  shrubbery 
dotting  the  lawn,  told  of  a  presiding  spirit  in  love  with 
the  beautiful — perhaps  the  women  standing  on  the  steps 
and  looking  out  along  the  lane  leading  to  the  highway. 
The  presiding  spirit  of  the  place  she  might  have  been,  and 
yet — she  scarcely  seemed  to  belong  to  it.  Let  us  sketch 
her  as  she  stands.  A  superb  figure,  a  noble  head,  carried 
somewhat  haughtily,  coal  black  hair,  braided  and  worn  like  a 
coronet,  eyes  dark  as  the  hair,  and  shaded  by  long  silky 
lashes,  mouth  and  chin"  cast  in  beauty's  mold,"  but  indi- 


8  IN  THE  TOILS. 

eating  pride  and  firmness,  as  well  as  womanly  tenderness, 
and  a  smooth  cheek  whose  rich  bloom  told  of  warmer  climes : 

"A  tint  not  won 
From  kisses  of  a  northern  sun." 

Such  in  face  and  form  is  Esther  Wallace  at  twenty-seven. 
Years  ago,  when  she  was  Esther  Pryor,  her  companions 
called  her  "  Queen  Esther,"  and  she  looks  a  queen  to-night, 
rather  than  the  mistress  of  that  pleasant  country  home.  It 
is.  her  home  nevertheless,  and  the  dearest  one  she  has  ever 
known — how  dear  none  can  tell  but  the  bird  that  sings 
in  her  heart,  as  she  stands  there  watching  for  the  coming 
of  the  master  of  the  house.  The  tender  light  in  her  dark 
eyes  grows  brighter  as  she  watches,  and  the  lines  about  the 
proud  mouth  melt  into  soft  curves. 

Love  is  lord  and  king  to-night  and  the  haughty  spirit 
shrined  in  that  beautiful  form,  owns  his  full  power.  <  "  Love's 
young  dream,"  ended  may  be  with  girlhood,  but  love's 
reality,  wifely  love  deepened  and  strengthened  by  the  pass 
ing  years,  sanctified  by  suffering,  and  made  more  tender  a 
thousand  fold  by  the  child-life  cradled  in  her  bosom,  will 
never  end.  Never  in  her  bright  youth  did  Esther  Pryor, 
watching  shyly  behind  the  lattice  for  her  lover,  look  half  so 
beatiful  as  Esther  Wallace,  waiting  for  her  husband  at  the 
threshold  of  his  home. 

"  How  late  it  is !  What  can  keep  him  so  long  ?  "  she  said, 
half  aloud,  looking  up  a  little  anxiously  at  the  gathering 
clouds.  The  wind  swept  round  the  house  with  greater  force 
and  a  few  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall  as  she  strained  her 
eyes  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  distant  road.  At  this  moment 
a  side-gate  was  opened  and  shut  noisily,  and  a  bright  little 
girl  rushed  up  the  garden  path,  and  across  the  porch,  crying 
breathlessly: 

"Oh,  mamma,  mamma,  what  do  you  think?  A  great 
ugly  hawk  flew  down  into  the  yard,  and  caught  one  of  the 


IN  THE  TOILS.  9 

white  hen's  chickens  and  me  and  Horace  knocked  it  over 
with  a  pole.  Horace  has  got  the  hawk  now  and  is  going  to 
nail  it  to  the  side  of  the  barn  he  says,  but  the  poor  little 
chickie  is  quite  dead;  only  see,  mamma,"  and  unfolding 
her  apron,  the  child  disclosed  to  view  the  luckless  chicken 
pinched  to  death  by  cruel  claws. 

"Softly,  Winnie  dear,"  responded  the  mother,  "  I  am 
very  sorry,  but  was  it  you  or  Horace  that  killed  the  hawk  ?" 

"  Well,  mamma,  Horace  killed  it,  but  I  screamed  and 
made  him  come  quick  with  the  pole,  so  I  helped,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  think  so;  but  you  had  better  put  your  chicken 
away  now,  and  run  in  and  see  if  supper  is  ready.  Your 
papa  will  be  home  soon." 

"  I'll  go  mamma,  but  I  mean  to  have  a  funeral  to-morrow 
for  this  poor  killed  little  creature.  How  bad  her  mother 
will  feel ;"  and  carefully  wrapping  up  the  dear  departed, 
Winnie  turned  away. 

A  smile  flitted  across  the  mother's  face,  but  it  was  quickly 
followed  by  a  sigh,  as  her  eyes  wandered  to  a  distant  corner 
of  the  garden  where  a  white  railing  inclosed  a  little  mound 
on  which  the  violets  and  forget-me-nots  had  bloomed  for 
three  summers  past.  She  knew  only  too  well  how  mothers 
felt  when  their  little  ones  were  taken  from  them,  and  her 
heart  ached  bitterly  yet,  whenever  her  thoughts  turned  to 
the  soft  blue  eyes  that  were  closed  in  such  a  long  sleep  and 
the  tender  baby-hands  that  were  so  cold  when  she  kissed 
them  last. 

Lost  in  a  sorrowful  reverie,  she  did  not  raise  her  head 
again  to  look  for  her  husband's  coming,  until  roused  by 
Winnie's  footsteps. 

"  Hasn't  papa  come  yet  mamma  ?  Aunt  Eunice  is  going  to 
have  hot  cakes  and  honey  for  supper  and  I  am  so  hungry." 

"  No,  dear,  papa  is  not  in   sight.      I  hope  he  will   come 


io  IN  THE  TOILS. 

soon,  for  it  is  going  to  rain,  and  he  must  not  get  wet.  He 
is  not  really  well  yet." 

Winnie  meantime,  not  waiting  to  hear  the  last  words,  had 
run  down  to  the  gate  and  mounted  the  horse-block. 

"  He  is  coming  now,"  she  cried.  "  That  is  papa  just 
turning  into  the  lane,  and  there  is  a  gentleman  with  him,  a 
tall  gentleman  that  I  don't  know.  May  I  run  and  meet  them?' 

"  Yes,  if  you  want  to.  I  must  go  in  and  tell  Aunt  Eunice 
there  will  be  company  to  supper." 

Aunt  Eunice,  a  staid,  middle-aged  colored  woman,  who 
presided  in  the  kitchen  of  the  stone  house  with  a  dignity 
becoming  her  responsible  position,  received  her  mistress 
graciously  as  she  entered  her  own  peculiar  domain. 

"  Supper  mos'  ready,  Miss  Esther,  but  'pears  like  dese  yer 
waffles  takes  de  longest  while  to  bake.  Hopes  Massa 
Wallace  ain't  tired  waitin'  ?  " 

"  No,  auntie,  he  isn't  home  yet.  He  has  but  just  turned 
into  the  lane  and  there  is  a  strange  gentleman  with  him. 
Have  we  anything  very  nice  for  supper  ?  " 

"  Well  now  I'd  done  cooked  suthin'  better  if  I'd  's'pected 
company.  S'posin'  I  jess  fry  some  ham,  an'  put  on  de  peach 
jelly  ?  " 

"  All  right,  Auntie.  Your  suppers  are  always  good.  Get 
anything  you  like  and  I  will  go  and  meet  Mr.  Wallace  and 
see  what  company  he  has  brought." 

When  Mrs.  Wallace  returned  to  the  porch  her  husband  was 
already  at  the  gate.  His  companion,  a  tall,  dark-haired  man, 
in  the  prime  of  life,  was  apparently  a  stranger  to  the  neigh 
borhood  as  well  as  to  herself,  as  Mr.  Wallace  was  pointing 
out  to  him  the  different  objects  of  interest  in  sight.  Advanc 
ing  up  the  walk  Mr.  Wallace  presented  his  guest  to  his  wife. 

"  My  dear,  this  is  Mr.  Harwood,  an  old  friend  of  my 
father's.  I  knew  him  well1  in  my  boyhood  but  he  has  lived  in 
the  West  many  years,  and  I  had  quite  lost  sight  of  him." 


IN  THE  TOILS.  ii 

Courteously  acknowledging  the  introduction,  the  stranger 
bent  upon  her  a  pair  of  keen  gray  eyes  whose  searching 
glance  gave  her  a  momentary  feeling  of  discomfort.  Where 
had  she  met  that  look  before,  or  what  was  there  in  the 
scrutiny  bestowed  upon  her  to  cause  such  an  undefinable 
sense  of  uneasiness,  almost  of  fear. 

She  chided  herself  inwardly  for  her  nervousness  as  she 
welcomed  the  stranger  with  graceful  hospitality  and  led  the 
way  to  a  pleasant  sitting  room  where  a  bright  wood-fire 
dispelled  the  chilliness  of  the  evening? 

"Truly,  Wallace,"  said  Mr.  Harwood,  "you  are  wise  to 
adnere  thus  far  to  the  ways  of  your  ancestors.  After  a 
winter's  experience  of  the  close  stoves  that  render  most  of 
your  Eastern  dwellings  so  uncomfortable,  this  fire  is  a  pleas 
ant  surprise.  How  often  have  your  father  and  I  cracked 
our  walnuts  and  roasted  our  apples  before  just  such  a  blaze 
on  the  stone-hearth  of  the  old  homestead  when  we  were 
boys." 

While  hve  spoke  Mrs.  Wallace  observed  her  husband's 
friend  a  little  more  closely.  He  might  have  been  fifty  years 
of  age.  His  dark  brown  hair,  long  and  curling  at  the 
ends,  was  slightly  sprinkled  with  gray.  A  full  beard  and 
mustache  hid  the  lower  part  of  his  face  completely  and  a 
well  developed  forehead,  over-hanging  brows  and  a  Roman 
nose  made  up  the  remaining  outlines  of  a  not  very  remark 
able  countenance.  But  the  eyes  !  These  once  encountered 
would  not  soon  be  forgotten.  They  seemed  to  look  you 
through  and  through,  to  discern  your  most  secret  thoughts, 
and  they  repelled  while  they  mastered  you.  Mrs.  Wallace 
shrank  involuntarily  from  meeting  them  again  and  seated 
hertelf  where  she  was  not  obliged  to  face  her  guest.  Winnie, 
who  all  this  time  had  kept  in  the  background  with  a  shyness 
rather  foreign  to  her  nature,  now  advanced  to  her  mother's 
side  and  Mr.  Harwood  perceiving  her  held  out  his  hand. 


12  IK    THE    TOILS. 

"  Come  here,  little  one,  and  tell  me  your  name.  I  think  I 
forgot  to  ask  before." 

The  child  hung  down  her  head  and  did  not  stir. 

"  Winnifred  !"  said  Mr.  Wallace,  reprovingly. 

At  the  sound  of  her  father's  voice  Winnie  came  forward 
slowly  and  with  evident  reluctance  and  gave  her  hand  to 
the  stranger. 

"A  very  nice  little  girl,"  he  said,  smoothing  her  curls, 
•"and  like  mamma.  Not  afraid  of  me,  I  hope?" 

A  call  to  supper  at  this  moment  saved  Winnie  a  repri 
mand  for  not  answering.  At  the  table  the  conversation 
became  general  and  Mr.  Harwood  proved  himself  an  enter 
taining  talker.  He  was  intelligent  and  well  read,  had 
traveled  much  and  told  amusing  stories  of  his  adventures 
in  strange  lands.  The  supper  itself  was  a  success,  as  Aunt 
Eunice's  suppers  were  apt  to  be,  and  everything  passed  off 
pleasantly.  After  the  meal  Mrs.  Wallace  excused  herself  to 
attend  to  household  duties  and  did  not  return  to  the  sitting 
room  again  before  Winnie's  bedtime.  While  she  was  pre 
paring  the  little  girl  for  sleep,  she  said  to  her: 

"What  was  it  Winnie,  that  made  you  act  so  strangely, 
when  papa's  friend  spoke  to  you  to-night?  " 

"  Is  he  papa's  friend  ?  I  didn't  know  that,  and  I  am 
sorry  for  I  can't  like  him." 

"  But  why  not  ?  My  little  daughter  must  not  be  like 
Willful  Winnifred  in  the  story  book." 

"I  don't  know,  only  I  feel  afraid  of  him.  Sometimes  I 
shiver  all  over  when  I  am  not  cold  at  all  and  Sarah  Morris 
says  I  am  walking  over  my  grave  then  and  I  felt  just  so 
when  that  dark  man  held  my  hand." 

"  Sarah  Morris  is  very  foolish  to  say  such  things,  and 
you  must  not  listen  to  her.  Kneel  down  now  and  ask  our 
dear  Heavenly  Father  to  take  care  of  you  and  then  go  to 
sleep  like  my  own  good,  little  girl." 


IN  THE  TOILS.  13 

Reverently,  with  folded  hands,  Winnie  repeated  the  simple 
prayer  with  which  she  had  been  taught  to  commit  herself  to 
the  keeping  of  a  Heavenly  Friend,  and  then  snugly  tucked 
in  her  white  bed  and  soothed  by  her  mother's  tender  words 
and  good-night  kiss,  dropped  into  the  sound,  untroubled 
sleep  of  happy  childhood.  Her  mother  left  the  room  to  re 
join  her  husband  and  his  guest,  feeling  more  uneasy  and 
perplexed  than  she  would  have  cared  to  own.  What  was 
there  about  this  pleasant,  courteous  stranger,  she  asked 
herself,  to  make  the  child  shrink  from  him.  Then  she 
recalled  her  own  involuntary  sensation  of  dread  and  dislike 
when  she  first  felt  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  but  not  wishing 
to  yield  to  an  unreasonable  prejudice  and  being  endowed 
moreover,  with  too  much  common  sense  to  be  greatly  in 
fluenced  by  presentiments,  she  resolved  to  put  the  whole 
matter  out  of  her  mind  and  exert  herself  to  make  Mr.  Har- 
wood's  visit  as  pleasant  as  possible.  The  evening  was  spent 
in  listening  to  their  guest's  animated  description  of  the 
Great  West;  and  when  they  retired  for  the  night  Mr.  Wallace 
said  he  had  gained  more  information  with  regard  to  the 
resources  of  the  country  during  that  one  conversation  than 
in  his  whole  life  before.  He  was  mush  interested  in  his 
father's  friend  and  hoped  to  be  able  to  prevail  on  him  to 
make  their  house  his  home  while  he  remained  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  His  wife  said  nothing  but  long  after  he  had 
sank  into  a  quiet  slumber,  she  turned  restlessly  on  her  pillow, 
striving  in  vain  to  banish  the  unpleasant  impressions  of  the 
evening  from  her  mind.  . 

When  at  last  weariness  overcame  her  and  she  closed  her 
eyes  it  was  only  to  wake  in  a  few  moments  with  a  start, 
thinking  she  heard  her  child's  voice  calling  for  help. 
Falling  asleep  again  she  dreamed  she  saw  her  husband 
standing  on  the  crumbling  edge  of  a  precipice,  apparently 
unconscious  of  danger,  when  suddenly  the  stranger  ap- 


14  IN  THE  TOILS. 

preached  and  thrust  him  over  the  brink.  Frozen  with  horror 
she  tried  vainly  to  cry  out,  when  all  at  once  the  scene 
changed  and  she  was  walking  with  her  little  girl  along  a  well 
known  path.  Happening  to  look  up  she  saw  a  monster 
hawk  circling  slowly  round  and  round  above  them.  It  drew 
nearer  and  assumed  gigantic  proportions  with  the  head  and 
face  of  her  husband's  guest.  With  a  shriek  of  mortal 
terror  she  caught  her  child  in  her  arms  just  as  the  creature 
swooped  down  upon  them  ;  but  too  late.  The  sharp  claws 
were  buried  deep  in  the  tender  flesh  and,  when  with  super 
human  strength  she  wrenched  her  daughter  from  their 
hold,  it  was  only  to  see  her  droop  lifeless  in  her  embrace. 
She  awoke  trembling  in  every  limb  and  with  the  cold  drops 
of  agony  standing  on  her  forehead.  The  frightful  dream 
was  so  vivid,  the  impression  that  some  danger  menaced 
her  child  so  strong  that  she  rose  from  her  bed  and  lighting 
her  night-lamp,  went  into  the  little  room  adjoining  her  own 
where  Winnie  slept.  The  child  whom  she  had  left  sleeping 
so  peacefully  a  few  hour-;  before  was  now  tossing  from  side 
to  side  with  flushed  cheeks  and  muttering  indistinctly,  the 
only  word  audible  being  the  one  that  rises  first  to  a  child's 
lips  when  in  trouble  ;  "  Mamma." 

Her  mother  watched  her  for  a  few  minutes,  undecided 
whether  to  awaken  her  or  not,  but  she  grew  quiet  and  soon 
Her  soft,  regular  breathing  showed  that  her  sleep  was  no 
longer  disturbed. 

"  Can  it  be,"  thought  Mrs.  Wallace,  "  that  the  child's 
slumbers  are  haunted  as  mine  have  been  ?  If  I  could  bring 
myself  to  believe  in  forewarnings,  I  would  surely  think  that 
this  man's  visit  was  to  cause  us  trouble.  But  no;  I  should 
be  more  childish  than  Winnie  to  give  way  to  such  fancies. 
My  nerves  are  out  of  order  and  Winnie  doubtless  saw  some 
thing  in  my  manner  toward  Mr.  Harwood  that  influenced 
her.  I  will  go  to  sleep  and  think  no  more  about  it." 


IN  THE  TOILS.  15 

Reasoning  thus  she  returned  to  her  own  room  but  sleep 
did  not  come  at  her  bidding  and  hours  passed  before  she 
found  rest  and  forgetfulness.  The  light  of  the  next  morn 
ing  dispelled  to  a  great  extent  the  nervous  terrors  of  the 
night  and  scorning  herself  a  little  for  having  been  frightened 
by  a  dream  she  greeted  her  guest  cordially  when  he  made 
his  appearance  and  presided  smilingly  at  the  bountiful 
breakfast  table. 

Mr.  Wallace,  as  he  intimated  to  his  wife  the  night  before, 
was  anxious  to  keep  the  guest  whose  society  he  found  so 
pleasant,  and  urged  him  to  stay  with  them  as  long  as  his 
business  detained  him  in  the  place,  but  Mr.  Harwood,  with 
many  thanks  for  the  hospitable  offer,  declined,  saying  he 
was  obliged  to  attend  to  affairs  that  would  require  his 
presence  in  the  county  town  a  few  miles  away  most  of  the 
time.  He,  however,  promised  to  make  them  another  visit 
and  Mrs.  Wallace  united  with  her  husband  in  assuring  him 
that  it  would  be  a  great  disappointment  if  he  failed  to  do 
so-;  still  she  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  relief  when  he 
was  gone  and  found  herself  secretly  hoping  he  might  not 
return. 

We  would  not  have  the  reader  think  from  this  that 
Esther  Wallace  was  one  of  those  women  who  tell  white  lies 
every  day  for  the  sake  of  not  appearing  discourteous.  She 
thought  it  right  to  second  her  husband's  invitation,  and  if 
her  manner  toward  her  guest  was  more  cordial  than  her 
feelings,  it  was  because  she  wished  to  conquer  what  she 
assured  herself  was  a  very  silly  prejudice. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  Winnie,  who  had  been  out 
of  doors  most  of  the  time  atttending  to  the  obsequies  of 
the  departed  chicken,  sought  her  mother  in  her  room  to 
announce  that  the  funeral  was  over  and  she  would  like  a 
piece  of  card-board  to  make  a  monument  for  the  grave. 


16  IN  THE  TOILS. 

The  card  board  was  hunted  up  and  while  Mrs.  Wallace  was 
shaping  and  lettering  it  according  to  orders  she  asked  : 

"Did   you  sleep  well  last  night,  daughter?" 

"  Yes,  mamma — or  no.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  what  a  bad 
dream  I  had." 

"  What  was  it,  dear  ?  " 

"You  would  never  guess,  mamma.  I  dreamed  papa  gave 
me  away  to  that  strange  man  and  he  was  going  to  take  me 
off  and  papa  would  not  listen,  though  I  cried  and  begged 
ever  so  hard.  Then  I  called  'mamma,'  as  loud  as  I  could 
and  the  man  caught  me  up  but  you  came  running  and  took 
me  away  from  him.  Don't  tell  papa,  please.  I  should  be 
ashamed  for  him  to  know  I  dreamed  such  a  thing  about 
him — such  a  good  papa." 

Mrs.  Wallace  smiled  as  she  kissed  her  little  girl  and  gave 
the  required  promise,  and  the  monument  being  now  finished 
to  Winnie's  satisfaction,  she  placed  it  in  her  hands  and  the 
child  hurried  away  to  pay  the  last  token  of  respect  to  the 
memory  of  her  downy  favorite. 

While  she  is  absent  on  this  errand  and  her  mother  engaged 
with  the  duties  of  the  day,  we  will  go  back  a  few  years  and 
introduce  more  fully  to  the  reader  the  persons  whose 
future  lives  will  form  the  subject  of  this  truthful  history. 


PART    I.— CHAPTER   n. 

A    SPOILED    CHILD    AND    A    SUCCESSFUL    MAN A  WEDDING 

THE    MORMON    ELDER. 

Charles  Wallace,  the  owner  of  the  stone  house  and  fer 
tile  acres  around  it,  was  of  Puritan  stock.  His  father  was 
an  honest  New  England  farmer  who  had  grown  gray  tilling 
the  rocky  soil  of  his  native  state  before  Charlie  s  blue  eyes 
opened  to  the  light. 

The  elder  Wallace  reared  his  family  according  to  the  tra 
ditions  of  the  Pilgrims.  Work,  hard  work,  was  the  law  of 
the  household,  but  it  was  coupled  with  the  saving  gospel  of 
domestic  love,  homely  kindness  and  mutual  helpfulness. 
The  boys  were  not  driven  but  led  to  their  daily  task,  and 
his  elder  sons  did  credit  to  the  school  in  which  they  were 
trained.  Year  after  'year  they  followed  the  plow  and 
wielded  the  scythe  without  once  troubling  their  father  with 
the  aspirations  that  commonly  take  hold  of  the  nineteenth 
century-youth  whenever  hard  work  is  required  of  him, — 
but  Charlie,  the  youngest  of  the  flock — the  mother's  gold 
en-haired  darling,  rebelled  against  the  toilsome  and  prosaic 
life  that  his  brothers  accepted  as  their  manifest  destiny. 
It  was  a  thousand  times  pleasanter  to  lie  under  the  apple 
trees  on  a  hot  summer-day  and  read  of  giants  and  fairiesj 
of  knights  and  troubadors,  than  to  ply  a  rake  in  the  hay- 
field  under  a  broiling  sun,  and  the  boy,  like  a  good  many 
older  people,  managed  to  persuade  himself  that  the  easy 
way  was  the  right  way.  The  father  grumbled  about  his 
laziness  but  the  mother  plead  for  him  and  the  sun-browned 
elder  brothers  took  his  part.  He  was  their  baby  almost  as 
much  as  the  mother's.  While  he  yet  wore  white  frocks  they 


i8  IN  THE  TOILS. 

rocked  his  cradle,  carried  him  on  their  shoulders  to  the 
barn  and  gave  him  many  a  ride  on  the  gentle  old  horse  that 
stood  winking  sleepily  beside  the  pile  of  fragrant  hay, 
which  was  Charlie's  throne  of  state.  He  was  king  then  and 
they  his  loyal  subjects,  and  ever  since  it  had  been  their 
pleasure  to  do  his  royal  bidding.  Now  it  seemed  to  them 
altogether  right  and  fitting  that  he  should  play  while  they 
worked.  "  He  was  such  a  little  fellow  yet,"  chey  argued,  and 
he  looked  so  fair  and  delicate  with  his  pink  cheeks,  blue 
eyes  and  golden  curls,  they  were  sure  he  was  not  strong 
enough  foj  rough  farm  work.  They  were  very  proud  of 
him  and  so  too  in  his  secret  heart  was  the  father;  proud  of 
his  '"smartness,"  his  book-learning,  his  gift  for  repeating 
page  after  page  of  poetry,  and  telling  wonderful  stories  as 
they  sat  round  the  winter  evening  fire. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  master  Charlie  grew  up  without 
making  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  plow  or  rake.  He 
graduated  in  his  teens  from  the  district  school  of  his  boy 
hood  to  the  village  academy,  where  the  youth  of  two  gen 
erations;  had  grappled  with  the  mysteries  of  x  -»-  y  and 
stumbled  through  a  few  pages  of  Latin  grammar. 

At  this  institution  of  learning  he  soon  distanced  all  com 
petitors  and  so  distinguished  himself  that  the  teacher,  the 
minister  and  the  doctor  all  united  in  expressing  the  opin 
ion  that  the  boy  would  make  something  if  he  had  a  chance 
and  his  father  ought  to  give  him  better  advantages  than  the 
village  afforded.  Charlie  quite  agreed  with  them  but  when 
he  made  known  his  views  to  his  father  and  modestly  re 
quested  to  be  sent  to  college,  the  old  man  thought  it  quite 
time  to  clip  the  wings  of  his  soaring  ambition. 

"No  Charlie;"  he  said,  "I've  let  you  have  your  own 
way  all  along  but  this  is  goin'  a  leetle'too  fur.  If  I  send 
all  my  boys  to  college,  what  will  be  left  to  give  them  a  start 
or  take  care  of  mother,  when  I  am  gone?  I  can't  make 


IN  THE  TOILS.  19 

fish  of  one  and  flesh  of  another.  Look  at  your  old  father's 
hands  my  boy.  Think  how  hard  I've  worked  to  bring  you 
all  up,  and  your  brothers  have  worked  hard  too — no  better 
boys  in  the  country.  I  ain't  complainin'  of  you  Charlie, 
You've  always  been  a  good  boy  to  me  and  your  mother 
but  you're  old  enough  now  to  think  of  somethin'  besides 
school.  There's  more  things  to  be  studied  in  this  world 
than  books  as  you  will  find  out  if  you  live  to  be  as  old  as 
I  am,  and  many  a  boy  goes  through  college  without  learnin' 
what  he  needs  to  knows  most." 

Charlie  knew  very  well  that  there  was  no  appeal  from  his 
father's  decision  and  the  idea  of  going  to  college  had  to  be 
given  up ;  but  farm  life  was  as  distasteful  to  him  as  ever. 
So  like  another  younger  son  he  prayed  :  "  Father  give  me 
the  portion  of  goods  that  falleth  to  me"  and  like  him  also 
when  he  had  gathered  all  together  he  took  his  journey  into 
a  far  country,  but  there  the  parallel  ended ;  for  our  Charlie, 
though  not  fond  of  hard  work,  had  no  disposition  to  waste 
his  substance  in  riotous  living.  He  had  an  uncle  in  an 
other  State,  who  had  made  a  fortune  in  trade  and  to  him  he 
went.  The  merchant,  who  had  no  children  of  his  own,  re 
ceived  his  sister's  son  cordially  and  under  his  advice  and 
management  Charlie's  small  stock  of  worldly  gear  was  so 
well  invested  that  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  it  dou 
bled  before  the  year  ended.  Prosperity  continued  to  at 
tend  him  and  the  next  year  he  felt  himself  rich  enough  to 
retire  from  business  and  carry  out  his  plans  for  study  but 
just  at  this  time  while  making  one  of  his  trips  across  the 
country  with  his  uncle,  he  met  Esther  Pyror  and  thenceforth 
a  change  came  over  his  dreams. 

A  pair  of  glorious  dark  eyes  came  between  him  and  the 
pages  of  his  favorite  books  when  he  opened  them  and  the 
dead  languages  were  neglected  for  the  charm  of  a  living 
voice.  It  was  the  old,  old  story  which  is  as  new  to-day 


20  IN  THE  TOILS. 

as  when  the  first  pair  of  lovers  wandered  hand   in   hand  on 
the  banks  of  the  four  rivers  that  still 

"  Yield  thost  murmurs  sweet  and  low 
Wherewith  man's  life  is  undertoned." 

And  Esther  ?  An  orphan  living  under  thereof  of  a  dist 
ant  relative,  it  was  not  strange  that  she  yearned  sometimes, 
for  closer  ties  and  a  nearer  companionship  than  any  she 
had  known  since  her  dead  were  buried  out  of  her  sight. 

A  native  of  the  sunny  South,  she  was  homesick  often  in 
this  cold  Northern  land,  though  she  had  money  enough  to 
save  her  from  dependence  and  her  beauty  surrounded  her 
with  admirers  while  her  affectionate  nature  and  cheerful 
spirit  made  fast  friends  of  those  who  knew  her  best. 

But  Queen  Esther,  bright,  warm  hearted  and  gentle  to 
those  she  loved,  was  a  trifle  haughty  withal  and  thus  far 
those  who  came  a-wooing.  attracted  either  by  her  fortune  or 
her  handsome  face,  had  found  little  favor  in  her  eyes. 
Secretly  she  shared  the  favor  of  her  faithful  servitor,  Aunt 
Eunice,  that  "  Uese  yere  Nordeners  warn't  much  'count 
none  on  'em  rale  gentlemen  like  ole'  massa." 

When  Charlie  came  in  her  way,  she  rated  him  with  the 
others  at  first,  but  as  he  dared  do  no  more  than  worship  her 
in  secret,  she  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  be  as  reserved 
with  him  as  her  acknowledged  suitors  and  meeting  him  upon 
the  familiar  footing  of  every  day  acquaintance,  she  began 
before  long  to  admit  to  herself  that  there  were  real  gentle 
men  even  at  the  North.  Perhaps  this  change  in  her  vie-ws 
was  apparent  in  her  manner  toward  Charlie ;  at  any  rate 
his  visits  became  more  frequent  and  he  found  excuses  for 
remaining  in  the  neighborhood  week  after  week.  The 
sequel  is  soon  told. 

The  soft  summer  night,  the  moonlight,  the  breath  of  June 
roses  in  the  air,  may  have  helped  to  give  courage  to  the 


IN  THE  TOILS.  21 

timid  lover  and  subdue  the  heart  of  the  proud  Southern 
beauty,  but  certain  it  is  that  when  Charlie  was  at  length 
summoned  to  the  city  and  came  to  say  good-bye,  the  bal 
cony  from  which  they  had  watched  the  stars  on  other  nights 
was  the  scene  of  a  passionate  avowal  of  love  that  had 
never  found  «  xpression  in  words  before,  and  he  went  away 
carrying  with  him  Esther's  promise  to  be  his  wife. 

If  love  is  not  all  of  life  to  a  woman,  it  is  at  least  so 
much  to  her  that  life  would  be  worth  little  with  love  left 
out,  and  Esther  Pryor,  rich,  beautiful  and  admired  had 
found  her  life  very  empty  without  it.  In  the  dear  South 
ern  home  where  she  grew  up  from  infancy  to  the  verge  of 
womanhood  an  atmosphere  of  rare  tenderness  surrounded 
her.  "  Too  much  indulgence  has  spoiled  many  children  ; 
too  much  love  not  one."  So  wrote  one  who  knew  the  heart 
of  a  child,  and  Esther,  though  a  dearly  loved  only  daugh 
ter,  was  not  spoiled.  She  was  far  from  being  faultless 
however  and  bore  little  resemblance  to  the  good  children 
in  books  who  always  die  young.  Her  exuberant  vitality, 
counl'  d  with  the  mischief  into  which  it  constantly  over 
flowed,  would  have  made  her  a  terror  to  prim  teachers  and 
elderly  maiden  aunts,  but  happily  for  the  little  Esther  none 
of  these  watched  over  her  childhood,  and  her  real  faults, 
a  violent  temper  and  a  strong  self-will,  were  wisely  dealt 
with  by  a  mother  as  firm  as  she  was  loving. 

"  Mothers  have  God's  license  to  be  missed,"  so  Esther 
thought  in  the  long  years  that  followed,  when  the  tentie.' 
voice  was  stilled  and  the  hand  that  guided  her  childish  foot 
steps  had  moldered  back  to  dust.  The  father's  love  for 
his  only  child  was  too  nearly  allied  to  worship,  for  him  to 
perceive  her  faults  and  Esther  remembered  him  only  as 
the  "darling  papa,"  who  showered  gifts  and  caresses  upon 
her  without  limit  and  for  whose  coming  she  always  watched 


22  IN    THE    TOILS. 

so  eagerly.  Alas !  There  came  a  day  when  her  loving 
watch  ended  in  woe  unspeakable. 

One  bright  morning  her  father  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  away  to  transact  some  business  with  a  neighboring 
planter.  He  did  not  expect  to  return  before  night  and  as 
it  drew  near  sunset  Esther,  as  was  her  custom,  ran  gaily 
down  the  avenue  and  stood  at  the  gate  to  be  the  first  one 
to  meet  papa.  She  could  not  look  far  down  the  road  for 
where  their  grounds  ended  a  sudden  turn  hid  it  from  sight; 
but  she  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  horse's  hoofs  a  long  way 
off  and  for  this  she  stood  listening  when  she  heard  instead 
the  roll  of  wheels. 

As  the  cariage  came  in  sight  she  recognized  it  as  one  be 
longing  to  a  friend  of  her  father's  who  lived  a  few  miles 
away.  The  gentleman  sat  on  the  box  beside  the  coachman 
and  as  they  halted  at  the  gate  Esther  said  to  him  : 

"  Papa  is  not  at  home,  but  drive  right  in.  He  will  be 
here  directly." 

"  My  little  girl,"  he  answered,  "I  want  to  see  your  Uncle 
Robert.  Will  you  run  to  the  house  and  call  him?" 

As  he  spoke  Esther  noticed  how  white  and  strange  he 
looked  and  she  turned  to  do  his  bidding  wondering  whether 
he  was  sick  or  anything  dreadful  had  happened  at  his  house. 
Uncle  Robert,  her  father's  brother  who  was  spending  a  few 
weeks  with  them,  received  her  message  with  surprise. 

"  Mr.  Jerrolds  wants  me  at  the  gate  you  say.  Why  did 
he  not  come  in  ?" 

But  Esther  was  already  gone  to  tell  her  mother  how 
sick  Mr.  Jerrolds  looked  when  he  sent  her  to  call  her 
uncle. 

Presently  the  carriage  came  slowly  up  the  avenue,  Mr. 
Jerrolds  and  Uncle  Robert  walking  ahead.  It  stopped  be 
fore  the  veranda  and  Mr.  Jerrolds  came  along  into  the  room 


IN  THE  TOILS.  83 

where  her  mother  sat.  He  was  paler  than  ever,  Esther 
thought,  and  he  could  hardly  speak. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Pryor,"  he  began  at  length,  "  Your  hus 
band  " — 

"  Has  anything  happened  to  him  ?"  she  cried,  terrified  by 
his  white  face  and  trembling  utterance,"  ''  Tell  me  all  and 
tell  me  quickly!" 

"  My  dear  madam,  be  calm,  I  entreat  you.  He  has  been 
thrown  from  his  horse  and  hurt." 

"  Is  he  badly  hurt  ?  Have  you  brought  him  home  ?  Let 
me  go  to  him," — for  Mr.  Jerrolds  had  placed  himself  before 
the  door. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Mrs.  Pryor,  only  a  moment.  They  are 
bringing  him  in.  He  is  very  badly  hurt.  Hi  is" — 

"  I  know  !  I  know  !  He  is  dead.  Do  not  stop  me  !  "  And 
wild-eyed  and  tearless  the  bereaved  wife  rushed  past  him 
into  the  hall  through  which  four  of  the  men-servants  were 
bearing  the  body  of  their  master,  who  had  left  them  that 
morning  so  full  of  life  and  strength.  At  the  sight  of  their 
mistress  they  paused  a  moment  with  their  sad  burden. 

"  Give  him  to  me,"  she  said,  "  Bring  him  here  !  He  is 
mine." 

In  awe-stricken  silence  they  obeyed  and  laid  him  down 
on  the  sofa  in  the  pleasant  room  that  until  now  had  been 
the  brightest  in  the  house.  Esther  who  all  the  while  had 
stood  as  if  transfixed,  when  she  saw  her  father  lying  there 
so  white  and  still,  threw  herself  down  beside  him  crying: 

"  Oh  papa!  darling  papa!  wake  up  !  Look  at  your  own 
little  girl!  Don't  die  papa  !  don't  die  !" 

Alas !  the  eyes  that  had  always  met  hers  with  looks  of 
tenderest  love  were  forever  closed  and  the  cold  hands,  upon 
which  the  sobbing  child  rained  passionate  kisses  would 
never  more  clasp  "  papa's  own  little  girl."  The  wife  ut 
tered  no  cry,  made  no  moan.  With  a  face  as  white  as  the 


24  IN  THE  TOILS. 

one  upon  the  sofa-pillow  she  knelt  beside  her  dead,  holding 
the  lifeless  head  as  tenderly  as  though  a  careless  touch  could 
hurt  it  now  and  putting  back  the  dark  hair  from  a  cruel 
wound  above  the  temple.  An  hour  passed  but  no  efforts 
or  entreaties  availed  to  move  her  from  the  spot  until  Esther 
who  was  awed  into  forgetfulness  of  her  own  grief  by  the  look 
on  her  mother's  face,  clinging  to  her  dress  begged  between 
her  sobs  that  mamma  would  come  with  her  and  not  leave 
her  all  alone. 

"  Papa's  little  girl,"  the  stricken  woman  said  softly,  look 
ing  down  on  the  trembling,  childish  figure.  Then  followed 
a  gush  of  blessed  tears  and  laying  her  precious  burden  gently 
back  on  the  pillow  she  suffered  herself  to  be  led  from  the. 
room.  Through  the  sad  days  that  followed,  the  thought  of 
her  fatherless  child  for  whose  sake  she  must  live  saved  the 
widow  from  sinking  utterly  under  the  suddenness  of  the 
blow  that  had  bereft  them  both.  But  when  all  was  over 
and  sorrowing  relatives  and  sympathizing  friends  departed 
leaving  them  alone  in  the  home  from  which  the  light  had 
gone  out  forever,  she  felt  it  impossible  to  endure  life  there, 
where  they  had  been  so  happy  together;  where,  turn  which 
way  she  would,  her  eyes  rested  on  something  that  re-called 
the  past.  Esther  too  in  her  childish  way  expressed  the 
same  feeling: 

"  Mamma,"  she  said,  "  do  let  us  go  away  somewhere.  As 
long  as  we  stay  here  where  papa  was  always  with  us,  it  seems 
as  though  he  must  come  back,  though  I  know  he  never 
will  and  I  cannot  bear  it ;  indeed  I  cannot," 

Esther's  words  decided  her  mother.  Her  own  early  home 
was  in  the  North  and  though  father  and  mother,  brothers 
and  sisters  had  long  since  passed  to  the  other  world,  she 
longed  to  breathe  her  native  air  again  and  look  once  more 
upon  the  familiar  scenes  of  her  girlhood ;  so,  leaving  her 
affairs  in  trusted  and  safe  hands  and  taking  with  her  only 


IN  THE  TOILS.  25 

her  daughter  and  the  faithful  Aunt  Eunice  who  had  been 
Esther's  nurse  in  infancy  she  sought  the  quiet  village  where 
she  was  born.  Here  surrounded  by  old  friends  and  de 
voting  herself  to  Esther's  education  she  found,  if  not  a  balm 
for  her  sorrow,  at  least  strength  to  bear  it  uncomplainingly. 
The  lover  of  her  youth,  the  husband  to  whom  she  gave  her 
whole  heart  was  still  hers  though  the  curtain  of  eternity  had 
fallen  between  them,  and  she  waited  patiently  for  the  lifting 
of  the  veil — the  hour  of  sweet  and  indissoluble  re-union. 

It  came  soon.  Before  Esther  was  sixteen  she  closed  her 
mother's  eyes  and  was  indeed  all  alone.  In  the  place  of 
her  father's  tender  caresses  her  mother's  loving  words,  there 
remained  to  her  only  the  marble  shaft  that  she  could  see 
from  her  window  gleaming  through  the  trees  when  she 
looked  out  toward  the  churchyard — only  that  mound  in  the 
far  South  which  she  had  left  when  the  magnolias  were  drop 
ping  their  white  petals  upon  it — two  graves  and  nothing 
more.  True,  she  had  been  taught  and  she  believed  that  her 
father  and  mother  still  lived  in  Heaven  but  Heaven  seemed 
very  far  off  to  the  lonely  girl.  The  other  world  was  too 
shadowy  and  indistinct  for  her  to  picture  father  and  mother 
living  and  loving  her  the  same  as  when  she  could  see  them. 

Oh  how  far, 

How  far  and  safe,  God,  dost  Thou  keep  thy  saints 
When  once  gone  from  us!    We  may  call  against 
The  lighted  windows  of  thy  fair  June-heaven, 
Where  all  the  souls  are  happy— and  not  one, 
Not  even  my  father,  looks  from  work  or  play 
To  ask,  "  Who  is  it  that  cries  after  us, 
Below  there  in  the  dusk?  " 

But  happily  it  is  so  ordered  in  God's  good  Providence 
that  time  soon  heals  the  wounds  of  grief  in  young  hearts. 
and  though  Esther  never  for  an  hour  forgot  her  beloved 
dead  and  never  ceased  to  miss  them,  the  years  took  from 
her  sorrow  much  of  its  bitterness,  and  when  the  new  love 
came  to  fill  her  heart  and  life  the  world  looked  as  bright  to 


26  IN   THE  TOILS. 

her  as  to  any  loving,  trusting  woman   when   she  utters  the 
vow:  "  Forsaking  all  others  I  will  cleave  only  unto  thee." 
******* 

It  was  June,  the  month  of  roses,  when  she  first  met  Charles 
Wallace  and  in  October,  when  as  her  lover  said  the  earth 
had  put  on  gold  and  purple  to  do  honor  to  a  royal  bride, 
they  were  married.  Eight  years  had  passed  since  then  ; 
years  so  full  of  sunshine  that  Esther  sometimes  feared  they 
were  too  happy,  until  the  first  shadow  came  and  the  little 
grave  was  made  in  the  garden.  Their  home  was  in  the 
country  because  Esther  wished  it,  but  their  money  enabled 
them  to  live  very  much  as  they  pleased,  and  Wallace  found 
the  life  of  a  gentleman-farmer  not  so  distasteful  after  all. 

He  had  at  length  realized  the  dreams  of  his  boyhood.  In 
his  cozy  library,  surrounded  by  the  books  he  coveted,  he 
had  leisure  and  opportunity  to  study  as  much  as  he  would  ; 
but  somehow  when  the  patter  of  Winnie's  baby  feet  began 
to  be  heard  about  the  house,  his  attention  was  drawn  from 
graver  pursuits  to  watch  the  development  of  her  wonder 
ful  talents.  Wife  and  child  were  so  much  to  him  that  he 
would  have  found  life  very  pleasant  even  if  literature,  science 
and  art  had  been  banished  from  it  altogether  ;  and  as  the 
years  followed  one  upon  another  he  realized  the  truth  of  his 
father's  words:  "  There  are  a  great  many  things  in  the  world 
to  be  studied  besides  books."  He  did  not  give  up  his  liter 
ary  pursuits,  but  he  was  by  no  means  absorbed  in  them  ; 
the  care  of  his  family,  the  improvement  of  his  estate  and  a 
natural  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  community  in  which  he 
lived  modified  his  plans  of  mental  culture. 

At  thirty  he  was  neither  a  savant  nor  a  renowned  genius, 
but  an  affable,  well-informed  country-gentleman  whose  ac 
quaintance  was  prized  by  his  neighbors  and  who  was  elevated 
by  his  family  to  the  pedestal  upon  which  living  hearts  are 


IN  THE  TOILS.  27 

wont  to  place  a  tender  husband   and  fond  father — but  the 
great  world  outside  had  never  heard  of  him. 

At  the  time  our  story  opens  he  was  slowly  recovering  from 
the  effects  of  a  lingering  sickness — brain  fever  followed  by 
a  general  prostration  of  the  vital  forces,  from  which  physicians 
and  friends  feared  he  would  never  rally.  Contrary  to  their 
prophecies,  however,  his  strength  returned  and  he  was  now 
apparently  almost  as  well  as  ever,  but  the  quick  eyes  of  his 
wife  discovered  a  subtle  change  in  him.  He  had  grown 
dreamy  and  abstracted  to  an  extent  that  sometimes  alarmed 
her,  and  when  startled  from  these  moods  he  was  irritable 
though  his  temper  heretofore  had  been  remarkably  placid 
child-like  and  even.  The  first  fretful  words  he  ever  spoke 
to  wife  or  uttered  when  roused  suddenly  from  one  of  his  rev 
eries,  but  both  were  ready  to  make  loving  excuses  for  an  in 
firmity  that  was  plainly  more  of  the  body  than  the  mind. 

On  the  evening  of  Mr.  Harwood's  visit  he  seemed  quite 
like  his  former  self,  and  the  next  day  he  was  more  cheerful 
than  he  had  been  for  months.  As  they  sat  round  the  sup 
per  table  at  night  Mrs.  Wallace  said  : 

"  I  don't  think  your  friend  told  us  in  what  part  of  the 
West  he  was  living." 

"  Did  he  not  ?  He  has  lived  in  different  Western  States 
but  his  present  home  is  in  Utah." 

"  In  Utah  !  Surely  he  is  not  a  Mormon  /  " 

Mr.  Wallace  smiled  at  the  startled  earnestness  with  which 
his  wife  put  this  question. 

"  That  is  not  what  he  calls  himself  my  dear.  He  and  the 
people  among  whom  he  dwells  proclaim  themselves  '  Latter 
Day  Saints.'  " 

"  Their  saintliness  must  be  of  a  very  peculiar  sort  if  the 
half  that  is  said  of  them  is  true." 

"  My  dear  wife,  we  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  too 
greatly  influenced  by  what  we  hear.  Eighteen  centuries  ago 


28  IN  THE  TOILS. 

worse  things  were  said  of  our  Saviour  and  his  followers  than 
have  ever  been  urged  against  the  Mormons." 

"  True,  but  those  who  spoke  evil  of  Jesus  and  his  disciples 
knew  all  the  time  that  they  were   uttering  wicked  and  un 
founded  calumnies,  and   the   Judge  before  whom  the  case 
was   finally  tried   was   compelled  to  say  'I  find  no  fault  in 
Him.'  " 

"  Well,  our  Mormon  friends  may  one  day  triumph  in  like 
manner  over  their  accusers;  but  we  will  not  argue  that 
point  now.  I  am  not  very  well  informed  with  regard  to 
their  principles  or  their  history,  but  when  Mr.  Harwood 
comes  again  we  will  let  him  plead  his  own  cause.  It  would 
be  unfair  to  condemn  him  and  his  people  without  a  hearing." 

Mrs.  Wallace  thought  to  herself  that  existence  would  be 
very  tolerable  without  any  further  light  on  the  subject  oi 
Mormon  faith  and  practice,  but  she  forbore  to  utter  her 
thoughts  aloud,  and  as  she  had  herself  invited  Mr.  Har 
wood  to  come  again,  she  could  not  well  protest  against  a 
second  visit  from  the  Mormon  Elder  as  she  now  understood 
him  to  be.  So  with  the  best  grace  she  could,  she  resigned 
herself  to  the  prospect  of  the  infliction  of  a  long  discourse 
on  the  mission  of  the  Prophet  Joseph  and  the  doctrines  held 
by  his  followers. 


PART  I.— CHAPTER  m. 

UNDER     THE    SPELL.       "  WHITHER   THOU    GOEST  I  WILL    GO." 

Two  weeks  passed  however  without  bringing  any 
tidings  of  Harwood  and  Esther  was  beginning  to  hope  that 
he  had  left  the  country,  when  one  bright  day  in  June  she 
was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  the  aged  pastor  of  the  church 
to  which  she  and  her  husband  belonged. 

Father  Belden,  though  trembling  on  the  verge  of  four 
score,  and  compelled  to  leave  the  active  duties  of  his  charge 
to  a  younger  colleague,  still  felt  a  warm  interest  in  all  his 
people  and  was  greatly  beloved  and  revered  by  them.  To 
Esther  as  well  as  her  husband  he  was  father,  friend  and 
counsellor.  Ever  since  she  first  knew  him  she  had  associ 
ated  his  calm,  benignant  face  with  the  thought  of  peace  on 
earth  and  good-will  to  men,  but  to-day  there  was  a  shade  of 
anxiety  on  the  placid  brow,  and  the  hand  that  clasped  hers 
in  friendly  greeting  trembled. 

"  Are  you  not  well  Father  Belden  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You 
seem  hardly  as  strong  as  usual." 

"  Well  in  body  my  child,  but  something  has  happened 
lately  that  causes  me  much  distress." 

"  Will  you  not  tell  us  what  it  is  ?  If  Charles  or  I  can  help 
you  in  any  way  you  know  how  glad  we  will  be  to  do  so." 

"  It  is  on  your  husband's  account  that  I  have  felt  so  much 
anxiety.  I  have  hesitated  for  a  number  of  days  to  speak  to 
you  about  it,  but  now  I  feel  that  I  can  no  longer  avoid  it." 

It  was  now  Esther's  turn  to  tremble  and  turn  pale.  "  What 
can  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  there  is  anything  wrong  with  him  or  any  danger 
threatening  him  surely  I  ought  to  know  it." 


30  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  Doubtless  you,  his  wife,  have  observed  more  clearly 
than  his  friends  outside  his  home  that  since  his  sickness  his 
mind  has  never  quite  recovered  its  former  tone." 

"I  have,  but  he  is  much  better  lately  and  I  am  en 
couraged  to  believe  he  will  soon  be  himself  again  in  all  re 
spects.  You  don't  think  otherwise?  " 

"  I  thought  as  you  do  that  he  would  be  quite  well  again 
soon,  and  such  would  doubtless  haye  been  the  case  if  no 
disturbing  influence  had  been  brought  to  bear  upon  him. 
You  had  a  visitor  three  weeks  ago  I  think;  a  Mr.  Har- 
wood  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Harwood  spent  one  evening  with  us,  and 
Charles  seemed  much  interested  in  him  at  the  time  but  he 
has  not  called  on  us  since.  What  has  he  to  do  with  my 
husband's  state  of  mind  ?  " 

"Much,  I  fear.  Are  you  aware  that  Mr.  Harwood  is  a 
Mormon  missionary  ?  " 

"  I  learned  after  his  visit  that  he  was   from  Utah  and  a 

* 

Mormon,  but  did  not  hear  that  he  was  on  a  missionary 
tour." 

"  Those  people  never  leave  home  except  to  make  con 
verts  or  raise  money,  and  Elder  Harwood,  as  he  is  called, 
had  both  objects  in  view  in  coming  here." 

"  You  don't  think  he  expected  to  convert  us  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wallace  smiled  in  spite  of  herself  at  the  preposter 
ous  idea.  Surely  her  good  pastor's  mind  must  be  failing  a 
little  if  his  anxiety  about  her  husband  arose  from  such  a 
source. 

"  I  am  certain  that  Elder  Harwood  expects  to  make  con 
verts  in  this  neighborhood,  but  I  don't  think  he  has  any 
hope  of  influencing  you.  With  your  husband  however  the 
case  is  different.  If  the  Mormon  missionary  had  talked 
with  him  six  months  ago  he  would  not  have  listened  to  his 
sophistries  for  a  moment.  Now  he  is  not  as  you  say  quite 


IN  THE  TOILS.  31 

himself.  His  mind  has  not  fully  recovered  from  the  effects 
of  his  illness,  and  he  is  in  just  the  right  state  to  be  influenced 
by  the  wily  Elder's  glowing  picture  of  Christ's  temporal 
kingdom  set  up  in  the  valleys  of  the  far  West  and  his  'ac 
counts  of  the  visions,  revelations  and  visits  of  angels  vouch 
safed  to  the  chosen  people  gathered  there." 

Father  Belden  spoke  so  earnestly  and  with  such  evident 
anxiety  that  Esther  for  the  first  time  felt  a  thrill  of  fear. 

"  When,"  she  asked,  "  could  Harwood  have  talked  with 
my  husband  upon  such  subjects?  Nothing  of  the  kind  was 
mentioned  during  his  visit  here,  and  they  have  not  met 
since  to  my  knowledge." 

"  They  have  met  without  your  knowledge  then,  for  I  have 
several  times  seen  them  walking  together  engaged  in  earn 
est  conversation,  in  which  Charles  was  so  much  absorbed 
that  he  did  not  look  up." 

"  If  he  has  been  so  deeply  interested  I  wonder  he  never 
mentioned  the  matter  at  home.  You  know  his  open,  frank 
nature  and  I  don't  think  he  has  had  a  secret  from  me  since 
we  were  married." 

"  I  do  not  suppose  he  has.  I  know  something  of  his  de 
votion  to  his  wife  and  his  confidence  in  her  and  I  know  how 
well  she  deserves  both,  but,  my  child,  you  must  remember 
what  you  said  yourself  a  few  minutes  ago  and  what  I  have 
just  repeated — your  husband  is  not  quite  himself  now,  and 
one  of  the  first  lessons  taught  by  these  Latter  Day  preachers 
to  their  converts  is  to  practice  concealment  and  deception 
toward  their  best  friends." 

"  You  speak  almost  as  though  he  might  be  a  convert  to 
this  imposture  already.  I  know  his  mind  is  weakened  by 
illness  and  in  his  present  state  his  father's  friend  may  have 
a  temporary  influence  over  him,  but  it  is  not  possible  that 


3«  IN  THE  TOILS. 

such  a  transparent  delusion  as  Joe  Smith's  '  revelation  ' 
should  gain  any  permanent  hold  upon  him." 

"  Esther,"  said  the  old  man  sorrowfully,  "  I  would  gladly 
give  the  poor  remnant  of  my  life  to  save  you  from  such 
pain  as  my  next  words  must  cause.  Charles  was  baptized 
into  the  Mormon  faith  by  this  Harwood  yesterday." 

Esther  sank  back  in  her  chair  dizzy  and  faint  as  from  a 
sudden  blow.  She  would  have  said  again  "  impossible  !  " 
but  she  remembered  her  husband's  absence  from  home  the 
whole  of  the  previous  day,  and  his  strange  manner  when  he 
returned  at  night.  She  recalled  too  the  fact  that  since 
Harwood's  visit  he  had  seemed  to  have  business  at  the  vil 
lage  very  often  and  had  on  every  occasion  staid  away  much 
longer  than  was  his  custom.  All  was  explained  now.  The 
Mormon  missionary,  on  the  lookout  for  some  one  to  entrap, 
had  heard  of  their  circumstances,  and  of  her  husband's  state 
of  health,  and  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  be  an  easy 
and  profitable  convert.  His  visit  to  their  home  probably 
convinced  him  that  Wallace  was  the  only  member  of  the 
household  whom  he  could  hope  to  influence,  and  so  he  had 
taken  measures  to  secure  him  at  once  and  keep  the  whole 
matter  from  his  friends  until  it  was  too  late  to  thwart  him. 

Deeply  distressed,  as  she  was,  at  this  discovery,  no  thought 
of  reproaching  her  husband  entered  the  mind  of  the  loyal 
wife.  In  his  present  state  she  considered  him  scarcely 
more  accountable  for  his  acts  than  for  words  uttered  in  the 
ravings  of  delirium,  but  she  felt  a  fierce  resentment  rising 
in  her  heart  against  the  man  who  had  stolen  into  their  home 
under  the  guise  of  friendship  and  dealt  this  fatal  blow  to 
its  happiness.  She  sat  in  stunned  silence,  incapable  of  re 
plying  to  her  pastor's  expressions  of  sympathy  and  seeing 
that  she  would  be  better  alone,  he  commended  her  in  a  few 
fervent  words  to  the  Friend  whose  love  abides  when  all 
other  loves  fail;  and  left  her  to  seek  help  from  Him. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  33 

Long  after  the  good  man  had  taken  his  departure  Esther 
remained  as  he  left  her  seeking  to  realize  the  nature  and 
extent  of  the  calamity  that  had  fallen  upon  her. 

Only  two  years  before  her  sympathies  were  deeply  enlisted 
in  behalf  of  a  poor  woman  whose  husband  left  her 
and  joined  the  Mormons,  being  influenced  to  do  so  by  a 
specious  misapplication  of  the  words  "  He  that  loveth  wife 
or  children  more  than  me  is  not  worthy  of  me." 

The  deserted  family  having  been  wholly  dependent  on 
the  earnings  of  the  husband  and  father  for  support,  were 
plunged  into  the  deepest  poverty  and  distress,  and  Mrs. 
Wallace,  whose  charities  were  always  abundant,  was  ap 
pealed  to  for  help  by  those  who  knew  their  circumstances. 
During  the  whole  of  the  first  winter  after  they  were  left  alone 
she  fed  them  from  her  own  table,  and  the  heart-broken  wife 
who  was  completely  prostrated  in  body  and  mind  by  the 
stroke  which  left  her  worse  than  widowed,  clung  to  Esther 
as  to  the  only  friend  she  had  on  earth.  How  well  she  re 
membered  now  every  word  of  the  poor  creature's  aad 
story : 

"  I  riever  blamed  my  George,  Mrs.  Wallace.  He  was  a 
good  husband  to  me  and  a  good  father  to  his  children,  but 
it  seemed  as  if  he  was  possessed  like,  after  he  heard  that 
man  preach,  and  then  he  would  come  here  and  he  and 
George  would  sit  under  that  tree  there  and  talk  until  maybe 
ten  o'clock  at  night.  Things  went  on  in  this  way  for  weeks, 
George  leaving  his  work  and  everything  else  to  follow 
the  preacher  around.  I  never  could  bear  the  man 
from  the  day  I  set  eyes  on  him.  He  always  made  me  think 
of  a  snake,  and  my  poor  George  was  just  bewitched  by  him 
as  they  say  snakes  will  charm  birds  and  squirrels.  One 
night  after  he  was  baptized  he  came  home  in  great  trouble 
of  mind.  He  wouldn't  go  to  bed,  but  just  walked  the  floor 
till  long  after  midnight.  At  last  he  comes  to  me  and  says : 


34  IN  THE  TOILS. 

'Mary   will    you    be   baptized  and    go  with  me?* 

'  Go  where  ?  '  says  I. 

'To  Zion  where  the  saints  are  gathering.  I  must  be 
there  to  meet  the  Lord  when  he  comes.  It's  been  been  a 
great  trouble  to  me  that  you  wouldn't  listen  to  the  gospel, 
but  you  must  receive  the  truth  now  and  go  with  me  or  I 
must  go  alone.  I  can't  lose  my  soul,  no,  not  for  wife  nor 
children.  I  love  you  Mary  and  I  love  the  little  ones,  God 
knows  I  do,  but  I  must  go  where  he  calls.' 

Well,  I  told  him  I  would  go  with  him  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  but  I  would  never  be  baptized  and  pretend  to  believe 
something  that  I  knew  was  a  lie.  Nothing  more  was  said 
that  night,  and  very  early  in  the  morning  George  got  up 
and  went  away,  telling  me  he  was  wanted  in  town  and 
wouldn't  be  home  to  dinner.  He  didn't  come  back  at 
night  and  when  I  went  to  the  village  to  look  for  him  (it  was 
ten  o'clock  and  I  was  almost  wild  for  he  never  staid  away 
after  dark),  they  told  me  he  went  off  on  the  cars  in  the 
morning  with  the  Mormon  preacher  and  two  or  three 
others.  He  never  left  any  word  for  me,  not  even  a  line  to 
say  good-bye,  and  I  never  heard  from  him  afterwards.  And 
there  were  the  children,  crying  to  see  me  cry,  and  little 
Jimmy  calling  at  night  for  his  papa  to  undress  him  as  he 
always  used  to,  and  I  knowing  all  the  time  that  their  father 
had  left  us  for  good.  It  was  more  than  I  could  stand  up 
under  and  when  I  took  sick  my  poor  little  baby  pined  away 
and  died  in  less  than  a  month.  Oh,  Mrs.  Wallace  was  there 
ever  any  trouble  like  mine  ?  " 

Was  there  ever  ?  Ah!  poor  stricken  heart,  how  many  be 
trayed  and  deserted  wives,  deserted  for  this  same  false  and 
cruel 'faith,  could  give  answer  if  they  dared  to  speak,  but 
those  who  suffer  most  from  the  blighting  influence  of  this 
religion,  that  sunders  the  holiest  ties,  must  suffer  in  silence, 
for  they  are  placed  where  the  same  remorseless  tyrany  that 


IN  THE  TOILS.  35 

crushes  their  hearts  seals  their  lips  likewise.  Esther  Wal 
lace,  sitting  with  bowed  head  in  the  home  which  the  ser 
pent  had  already  entered,  asked  herself  the  same  question, 
"  Was  there  ever  any  sorrow  like  my  sorrow  ?  "  Through 
the  open  window  floated  the  song  of  birds,  the  breath  of 
the  flowers  and  all  the  sounds  of  happy  life  in  the  world 
outside. 

It  was  just  such  a  lovely  summer  day  as  that  on  which 
her  father  rode  away  to  his  death,  just  such  a  day,  oh  woe 
ful  thought,  as  the  one  on  which  she  first  met  him  who 
would  soon  be  hers  no  longer,  for  she  knew  enough  of  the 
delusion  that  had  mastered  her  husband  to  be  certain  that, 
once  completely  under  its  power,  he  would  be  lost  to  her 
and  his  child  forever.  Yet  while  her  heart  was  full  of  bit 
terness  toward  the  man  who  had  deluded  him,  for  her  hus 
band  himself  she  felt  the  tender  pity  of  a  mother  for  her 
sick  babe. 

"Poor  Charlie ;  my  poor  darling,"  she  said  over  and  over 
again  to  herself,  "  in  his  right  mind  he  would  sooner  cut  off 
his  hand  than  do  what  he  has  done.  He  is  not  to  blame. 
It  is  I  who  am  to  blame  for  not  watching  him  more  closely." 

While  she  still  sat  thinking  over  the  perplexing  and  pain 
ful  position  in  which  she  found  herself,  she  heard/  her  hus 
band's  well  known  step  on  the  porch,  and  a  moment  after 
he  entered  the  room,  looking  pale  and  tired. 

"  Alone  Esther  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes  dear,  just  now.  Winnie  begged  to  ride  with  Horace 
to  the  mill  and  I  let  her  go." 

"  I  am  glad  she  is  not  here,  for  I  want  to  talk  to  you  a 
little  while  without  interruption." 

He  threw  himself  wearily  into  a  chair,  and  the  dreamy, 
far-away  look  that  Esther  had  noticed  so  often  of  late  came 
into  his  eyes,  but  he  roused  himself  directly  and  said  : 

"  Dear  wife  you  and  I  have  made  ourselves  believe  for  a 


36  IN  THE  TOILS. 

good  many  years  that  we  were  Christians,  but  in  the  light  of 
recent  experiences  I  am  constrained  to  think  we  have  been 
sadly  mistaken.  The  Gospel  tells  us  that  Christ's  followers 
deny  themselves,  bear  a  daily  cross,  suffer  as  he  suffered, 
and  are  hated  by  the  world.  We  have  been  living  easy, 
comfortable  lives  ;  most  of  our  days  have  passed  without 
crosses  and  the  world  does  not  hate  us.  Do  ycu  think  we 
can  lay  any  claim  to  discipleship  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  we  can,  though  we  have  not  followed  Christ 
fully  I  know.  There  are  other  tests  of  discipleship  than 
those  you  have  mentioned,  but  suppose  we  take  them  alone. 
In  one  form  or  another  we  have  found  our  daily  cross,  only 
look  back  and  I  think  you  will  admit  that.  And  if  we  have 
not  literally  forsaken  all  things,  I  think  we  have  held  our 
possessions  subject  to  a  higher  will;  ready  to  give  them  up 
when  called  for.  Remember,  dear  love,  when  the  most 
precious  thing  we  had,  our  only  son,  was  demanded  of  us, 
we  gave  him  up,  not  without  tears  it  is  true,  but  without  re 
bellious  murmurings." 

"  Yes,  I  know  we  gave  up  our  child  because  it  was  not  in 
our  power  t&  hold  him  back,  but  what  voluntary  sacrifices 
have  we  ever  made  ?  And  then  again  how  can  we  think  we 
belong  to  the  company  of  those  who  have  been  chosen  out 
of  the  world,  while  we  still  have  the  world's  friendship  ?  I 
know  of  but  one  people  who  are  hated  of  all  men  for  their 
Lord's  sake,  and  to  them  I  am  commanded  to  join  myself. 
A  voice  that  I  dare  not  disobey  calls  me.'r 

Again  he  relapsed  into  a  dreamy  silence,  as  though  he  were 
indeed  listening  to  a  voice  that  others  could  not  hear,  while 
Esther,  feeling  that  her  worst  fears  were  confirmed,  sum 
moned  all  her  strength  to  ask  the  final  question: 

"  Who  are  these  people,  and  when  and  how  do  you  pro 
pose  to  join  yourself  to  them? 

"  They  are  the  people  of  whom  we  have  spoken  once  be- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  37 

fore — those  who  have  forsaken  home  and  friends  for  the  sake 
of  their  faith,  crossed  a  savage  desert  at  the  peril  of  their 
lives,  and  gathered  in  the  valleys  beyond  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains  to  wait  for  their  Lord,  until  he  comes  to  reign  a  thou 
sand  years  as  he  foretold.  I  am  already  united  to  them  in 
the  faith  and  hope  of  the  Gospel.  I  have  been  united  to 
them  by  baptism,  and  now  I  only  await  your  consent  to  dis 
pose  of  all  we  have  here,  and  to  accompany  me  to  join  them  in 
the  peaceful. valleys  where,  separated  from  a  world  that  will 
not  receive  the  truth  ;  they  worship  God  in  the  way  He  has 
commanded." 

"  But  why,  dear,  have  you  waited  so  long  to  tell  me  of 
this  ?  You  have  always  confided  in  me,  why  then  did  you 
not  speak  to  me  at  the  first  of  your  convictions  and  pur 
poses  ?  " 

"  Because  I  feared  you  would  not  see  the  truth  as  I  saw 
it.  You  remember  that  immediately  after  Elder  Harwood's 
visit,  we  talked  a  little  about  his  people,  and  you  expressed 
yourself  quite  strongly  in  opposition  to  their  views  and 
practices.  Knowing  your  feelings  I  shrank  from  speaking 
to  you  of  my  own,  while  the  struggle  between  my  will  and 
the  Divine  call  was  going  on  in  my  heart.  At  times  it 
seemed  impossible  that  I  should  submit  to  the  requirement 
to  forsake  all  and  go  whithersoever  the  Spirit  might  lead. 
Judge  then  how  much  harder  the  struggle  would  have  been, 
if  in  addition  to  conquering  my  own  rebellious  heart  I  had 
been  forced  to  withstand  your  tears  and  entreaties." 

"And  now  you  say  the  struggle  is  ended  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Whatsoever  the  Lord  commands  by  the  voice  of 
his  servant,  that  will  I  do." 

"  That  means,"  thought  Esther,  "  that  he  submits  himself 
entirely  to  Harwood's  dictation,"  but  a  look  into  her  hus 
band's  face  convinced  her  that  he  was  sincere  in  believing 
he  obeyed  the  voice  of  God.  Harwood,  whom  she  could 


38  IN  THE  TOILS. 

4 

not  look  upon  otherwise  than  as  a  designing  and  unscrupu 
lous  villain,  was  to  him  a  messenger  from  Heaven,  whose 
every  word  was  to  be  heard  reverently  and  obeyed  implicitly. 

She  saw  too  that  he  had  no  suspicion  whatever  of  Har- 
wood's  real  motive  in  counselling  him,  as  she  did  not  doubt 
he  had  done,  to  obtain  her  consent  to  sell  their  property 
and  accompany  him  to  Utah. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  at  the  time  of  their  mar 
riage  Wallace  possessed  only  a  modest  competence,  while 
she  had  what  was  counted  in  those  days  quite  a  large  for 
tune  in  her  own  right.  At  Wallace's  express  wish  his  wife's 
property  was  settled  on  herself  in  such  a  manner  that  he 
had  no  control  over  it.  His  own  money  was  invested  in 
their  home,  which  of  course  could  not  be  sold  without  her 
consent.  Now,  Elder  Harwood,  as  she  read  him,  was  not 
at  all  anxious  to  take  his  convert  to  Zion  empty-handed, 
and  he  relied  on  her  affection  for  her  husband  as  a  means 
of  securing  their  property.  If  she  refused  to  go  with  him 
would  Charles  give  up  the  idea  of  gathering  with  the  Saints? 
She  thought  not,  but  to  place  the  matter  beyond  doubt  she 
asked : 

''  Suppose  I  cannot  see  my  way  clear  to  dispose  of  every 
thing  we  have  and  go  with  you,  what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  Esther,  though  I  love  you  and  our  child  far  better 
than  my  own  life,  I  cannot  hesitate  a  moment  between  the 
dearest  earthly  love  and  a  Divine  command.  I  must  go 
alone." 

As  he  spoke  his  lips  were  compressed  as  though  struggling 
with  mental  pain,  but  his  eyes  shone  with  almost  delirious 
enthusiasm,  and  he  was  plainly  prepared  to  go  any  lengths 
in  making  the  voluntary  sacrifices  of  which  he  had  spoken. 
It  would  avail  nothing  to  reason  with  him  in  his  present 
mood.  His  wife  felt  this,  so  she  only  said  gently : 
"  Give  me  a  little  time  Charles.  All  this  is  so  new,  so  un- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  39 

expected,  that  I  cannot  decide  at  once  as  to  what  I  ought 
to  do." 

"  As  much  time  as  you  wish  dear  wife,  and  I  pray  and 
trust  that  light  maybe  given  to  show  you  the  only  right  way. 
I  will  leave  you  alone  now  that  you  may  be  better  able  to 
look  over  the  ground  and  come  to  a  decision." 

So  saying  Wallace  withdrew  to  his  study.  Esther  feeling 
as  though  life  and  hope  had  suddenly  come  to  an  end,  after 
a  vain  attempt^to  look  over  the  ground  as  her  husband  sug 
gested,  lost  altogether  the  self-control  she  had  hitherto  main 
tained,  and  wept  and  sobbed  like  a  grieved  child. 

"  Oh  mother,  mother :  "  was  her  first  despairing  cry,  as 
though  the  mother  whose  grave  had  been  green  so  many 
years  could  hear  and  help  her  now.  Then  the  words  that 
came  to  her  before,  when  she  was  passing  through  deep  waters 
made  themselves  audible  to  her  wounded  spirit.  "  The  mo 
ther  may  forget  her  child  yet  will  I  not  forget  thee."  "  As 
one  whom  his  mother  comforteth  so  will  I  comfort  you."  And 
calmed  and  strengthened  by  the  thought  of  the  Infinite  Love 
that  is  never  deaf  to  the  cry  of  the  helpless  and  distressed, 
she  laid  her  case  before  One  who  has  left  us  the  assurance 
that  He  will  bear  all  our  griefs  and  carry  all  our  sorrows. 

After  this  her  way  seemed  clear.  Hard  as  it  was  to  decide 
to  leave  home  and  friends,  and  bury  herself  and  her  child  in 
the  wilderness,  and  among  a  people  of  whose  practices  she 
had  heard  enough  to  make  her  shrink  from  contact  with  them, 
it  would  be  far  harder  to  give  up  her  husband  entirely  and 
let  him  go  alone.  "  He  needs  me  now  more  than  ever  be 
fore,"  she  thought  "  I  promised  to  cleave  to  him  till  death 
should  part  us,  and  from  that  promise  nothing  can  absolve 
me.  And  who  knows? — perhaps  he  may  come  to  himself  in 
that  wretched  place,  and  be  as  glad  to  leave  it  as  I  shall."  If 
she  had  been  told,  as  she  wove  this  one  bright  thread  into  the 
picture  of  their  future,  that  once  settled  in  the  valleys  of 


40  IN  THE  TOILS. 

Utah,  she  would  have  little  more  prospect  of  leaving  them 
than  of  returning  from  her  grave,  she  would  have  found  it 
hard  to  believe  it.  She  thought  that  actual  contact  with  the 
people  whom  her  husband  denominated  "  the  chosenof  the 
Lord  "  might  be  the  surest  mea'is  of  opening  his  eyes,  and 
though  the  experiment  was  a  costly  one  she  decided  to 
make  it. 

On  one  point  it  afforded  her  some  pleasure  to  know  she 
had  it  in  her  power  to  disarrange  Elder  Harwood's  plans. 
Her  husband  might  part  with  his  own  property  if  he  chose, 
but  not  one  penny  of  her  money  should  be  handled  by  that 
devout  saint  and  successlul  missionary. 

In  the  midst  of  her  grief  and  anxiety  she  almost  smiled  to 
think  of  the  Elder's  discomfiture,  but  she  felt  quite  sure  he 
would  allow  Charles  to  accede  to  her  terms,  since  he  could 
not  even  take  with  him  the  price  of  their  home  unless  she  con 
sented  to  its  sale. 

Full  three  hour's  passed  while  she  was  shaping  these  resolu 
tions,  but  she  did  not  notice  the  lapse  of  time,  until  recalled 
to  a  consciousness  of  outward  events  by  Winnie,  who  came 
bounding  into  the  room  to  tell  the  adventures  of  her  won 
derful  journey  of  five  miles  or  more. 

The  sight  of  her  mother's  sober  face  quieted  the  lively 
child  somewhat,  and  when  her  father,  as  he  came  from  his 
study,  received  her  eager  greeting  almost  in  silence,  she  felt 
that  something  was  wrong,  but  with  a  discretion  acquired 
since  "  papa's  sickness  "  she  asked  no  questions. 

The  subject  that  absorbed  the  thoughts  of  both  husband 
and  wife  was  not  mentioned  by  either,  until  they  retired  for 
the  night,  and  then  Esther  w'as  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  think,  dear,"  she  said,  "  that  I  see  my  way  clearly 
now;  at  least  as  clearly  as  I  ever  shall,  and  my  dec  sion  is 
made.  '  Where  thou  goest  I  will  go,'  but  more  than  this  I 
cannot  say.  The  God  my  mother  worshipped  must  still  be 


IN  THE  TOILS.  41 

my  God,  and  you  must  not  ask  me  to  join  myself  to  the  peo 
ple  of  yojjr  choice.  I  am  willing  to  leave  home  and  friends 
for  your  sake,  but  my  conscience  must  remain  unfettered." 

"  You  promise  all  that  I  expect  or  require,  Esther. 
Faith  cannot  be  coerced.  If  in  the  future  light  is  given  you 
to  see  otherwise  than  you  now  do,  I  shall  be  glad  and  thank 
ful,  but  not  for  worlds  would  I  attempt  to  bend  you  to  my 
views,  if  the  truth  itself  does  not  constrain  you,  I  am  only 
too  happy  to  know  that  you  will  go  with  me  on  any  terms. 
I  go  forth  from  my  country  and  kindred  like  Abraham,  but 
like  him  I  am  favored  in  that  I  am  not  compelled  to  leave 
behind  the  dear  wife,  whose  love  is  the  crown  and  blessing 
of  my  days." 

The  tender  words,  the  loving  look  and  tone,  were  too 
much  for  Esther's  over-burdened  heart,  and  burying  her 
face  in  the  bosom  that  had  been  her  refuge  in  every  other 
sorrow,  she  wept  without  restraint.  Her  husband  clasped 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  away  her  tears  as  tenderly  as 
though  there  was  no  shadow  of  a  barrier  between  them,  and 
as  she  clung  to  him  she  said  to  herself  "  He  is  mine  still. 
This  cruel  belief  that  would  separate  what  God  hath  joined 
together  cannot  take  him  from  me." 

The  next  morning  found  her  in  a  happier  frame  of  mind 
than  she  would  have  thought  possible.  As  long  as  she 
could  be  sure  of  her  husband's  undivided  love  she  could 
face  any  trial,  and  since  he  was  not  so  wedded  to  his 
new  belief  as  to  demand  that  she  should  share  it,  as  a  con 
dition  of  sharing  his  heart  and  home,  henceforth,  she  did 
not  despair  of  his  final  restoration  to  a  sound  mind,  and  to 
the  faith  of  his  fathers.  She  had  said  nothing  to  him  as 
yet  about  the  disposal  of  their  property,  but  she  thought  it 
best  to  do  so  now  in  order  that  Elder  Harwood,  whom  he 
would  doubtless  meet  and  confer  with  during  the  day, 
might  have  a. clear  understanding  of  the  terms  on  which  she 


42  IN  THE  TOILS. 

consented  to  accompany  her  husband.  So  immediately 
after  breakfast  she  followed  Charles  into  his  study  and 
said  :  "  You  have  not  told  me  yet  what  you  wish  to  do 
with  our  home." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  that  was  mentioned  last  night,  for 
then  we  were  talking  of  matters  of  more  importance.  You 
know,  Esther,  I  have  no  control  over  your  property,  nor  do 
I  wish  to  exercise  any.  It  is  right  for  you  to  do  what  you 
will  with  your  own,  but  I  will  sell  our  home  with  your  con 
sent,  and  take  the  proceeds  with  us  to  be  used  as  the  Lord 
may  direct." 

"  Well,  dear,  I  can  only  repeat  your  words.  It  is  right 
for  you  to  do  what  you  will  with  your  own.  I  will  consent 
cheerfully  to  any  disposition  of  this  place  that  you  think 
best  to  make,  but  the  money  that  my  father  left  me  is  Win 
nie's  inheritance,  and  we  ought  not  to  risk  that.  It  seems 
to  me  that  we  should  only  take  with  us  what  we  will  be 
likely  to  need  in  making  a  new  home,  and  leave  the  re 
mainder  here  in  safe  hands  until  our  daughter  grows  to 
womanhood." 

"  Very  well.  We  will  then  consider  our  affairs  so  far  set 
tled.  And  now,  how  soon  will  it  be  possible  for  you  to  get 
ready  for  the  journey  ?  We  have  a  long  distance  to  go,  and 
as  it  is  already  the  first  week  in  June  we  have  little  time  to 
spare  if  we  wish  to  get  settled  in  our  new  home  before  win 
ter.  I  can  find  a  purchaser  for  this  property  in  twenty-four 
hours,  so  we  need  wait  for  nothing  but  such  preparations 
as  must  be  made  for  your  comfort  and  Winnie's  on  the 
way." 

"Two  weeks  will  be  sufficient  for  any  preparations  that  I 
have  to  make.  Since  we  have  decided  to  go,  the  sooner  we 
start  the  better." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  ride  to  town  this  morning  to  see  what 
arrangements  I  can  make  about  the  property,  and  in  the 


IN   THE   TOILS.  43 

meantime  you  can,  if  you  think  best,  let  the  family  know  of 
the  decision  we  have  come  to." 

After  her  husband  left,  Esther  nerved  herself  for  what  she 
felt  would  be  the  most  difficult  task  of  the  day — namely,  to 
acquaint  Aunt  Eunice  with  their  plans.  Her  faithful  old 
nurse  was  the  last  remaining  link  between  the  present  and 
the  past.  Her  mother  commended  her  to  Aunt  Eunice's 
care  with  her  dying  breath,  and  the  devoted  servant  would 
have  risked  her  life  to  save  her  young  mistress  an  hour's 
pain.  Esther  knew  the  old  woman  would  consider 
that  in  emigrating  to  Mormondom  they  were  flying  in  the 
face  of  Providence,  and  courting  destruction,  but  she  knew 
too,  that  she  would  go  with  them,  if  their  way  led  into  the 
jaws  of  death.  When  she  entered  the  kitchen  Aunt  Eunice 
was  kneading  the  bread  for  the  day's  baking. 

"You'se  not  feelin'  berry  well  to-day  I'se  feared  Mis' 
Esther,"  she  said  in  response  to  her  mistress'  greeting. 
"'Pears  like  you  didn't  hardly  eat  nuffin  dis  mornin." 
"  Nonsense,  Auntie,  I  am  always  well,  but  I  have  a  great 
deal  to  think  about  to-day.  Can  you  sit  down  a  little  while  ? 
I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

"  In  a  minute,  honey,  soon's  I  kiver  up  dis  yer  bread." 

This  important  business  having  been  attended  to,  Aunt 
Eunice  seated  herself  with  a  grave  and  somewhat  anxious 
face  to  hear  what  her  mistress  had  to  say,  when  Esther 
proceeded  to  tell  her  what  the  reader  already  knows. 

"  De  Lord  be  good  to  us  chile',"exclaimed  the  old  woman 
raising  her  hands,  "  is  you  rally  gwine  to  jine  dem  ar  Mor- 
monites  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Aunt  Eunice,  not  to  join  them,  but  Mr.  Wallace 
wishes  to  make  his  home  in  Utah,  and  where  he  goes  I 
must  go." 

"  Now  Mis'  Esther  honey,  you  knows  I  nussed  you  when 


44 


THE  TOILS. 


you  wor  a'  picaninny  dat  might  a  bin  put  in  dat  basket  dar, 
and  dere  hasn't  been  a  day  o'  yer  bressed  life  but  what  yer 
old  Auntie  would  a'  died  fur  her  lamb,  so  sartin,  I  wouldn't 
hurt  yer  feelin's  now,  but  'pears  like  you  might  a'  hendered 
dis  yer." 

"  No,  Auntie,  it  is  something  that  I  cannot  prevent.  Mr. 
Wallace  really  believes  that  God  calls  him  to  go,  and  he 
thinks  he  will  lose  his  soul  if  he  does  not  obey." 

"  Its'  all  de  doin's  o'  dat.  ar  man  with  rattlesnake  eyes. 
Didn't  I  feel  in  my  bones  when  he  corned  heyar  fust,  he 
hadn't  come  fur  no  good  ?  An'  pore  Massa  Wallace  not 
like  hisself,  an'  couldn't  be  'spected  to  see  through  sech  as 
him.  I  heern  tell  down  to  Easton  o'  some  of  his  goin's  on 
when  I  wor  to  meetin'  las'  Sunday;  nebber  'spected  though 
dat  he'd  bin  an'  bewitched  Massa  Wallace  ;  a  rail  gentleman 
like  him.  Dese  yer  Morrnonite  preachers  ginerally  gobbles 
up  de  low  trash  like  dem  ar  Joneses,  I  heern  wor  baptized 
in  Easton  las'  week.  Nebber  knowed  but  onct  whar  dey 
ketched  any  culled  people  an'  dey  warnt  no  'count.  Ye 
mind,  Mis'  Esther  when  yer  mar  wor  livin'  to  Brampton 
dere  wor  Nance,  used  to  wash  for  us.  Nance  allus  let  on  to 
be  mighty  pious  ;  shout,  she  would,  in  de  prar-meetin'  like 
to  take  de  ruff  off  de  house.  She  used  ter  work  fur  Missis 
Nash,  berry  nice  lady  and  allus  did  a  heap  fur  Nance,  long 
o'  s'posin  her  to  be  one  o'  de  Lord's  chillen.  Well,  one  day 
de  Missis  comes  down  to  Nance's  place  kinder  onexpected 
like,  an'  Nance  wor  havin'  a  quarrel  with  some  o'  de  nabors, 
swarin'  an'  goin'  on  like  mad.  When  she  seed  de  Missis  a 
comin'  inter  der  yard  she  wor  tuk  back  some,  but  Nance  al 
lus  hatl  a  drefful  sight  o'  brass,  so  she  axed  her  in  an'  brung 
a  cheer.  Den  de  Missis  begins  fur  to  tell  what  she  heern 
her  sayin'  as  she  wor  comin'  to  de  house,  an'  how  bad  she 
feels. 

'Well,  now,  Missis,  says  Nance,   'you  must    please    ter 


IN  THE  TOILS.  45 

'scuse  me  dis  onct.  I  didn't  go  fur  to  do  it,  but  dem  ar 
niggers  wor  so  aggravatin'  I  couldn't  help  it  nohow,  and  I'se 
gwine  to  class  to-night  and  I'se  gvvine  to  'fess.'  Den  de 
Missus  tells  Nance  here's  de  place  to  'fess  to  dem  what's 
she's  done  wrong  to,  an'  Nance  she  flies  up  an'  says  '  What  ! 
me  git  down  on  my  knees  to  dem  niggers  ?  No,  I  telled  em 
I'd  pull  ebery  spar  o'  wool  out  o'  dere  heads,  an'  I  will  ef 
dey  gibs  me  any  more  sarse.'  Well,  ye  see,  dat  kinder 
opened  de  lady's  eyes  an'  Nance  didn't  git  no  more  presents 
count  o'  bein'  on  de  Lord's  side.  Den  'long  comes  de 
Mormonite  preacher  a  tellin'  how  in  Zion  whar  he  lives  de 
ribbers  flow  with  milk  an'  honey  an'  Nance  wor  jest  fool 
'nuff  to  b'lieve  him  an'  packed  off  long  o'  some  pore  white 
trash  in  de  town  to  trabbel  to  Zion.  But  'scuse  me  Mis' 
Esther,  I  nebber  meant  to  run  on  dis  yer  way.  I  haint  no 
manners  nohow,  to  talk  all  de  time,  stead  o'  listenin'  to  what 
you  has  to  say." 

"  I  have  very  little  more  to  say  Auntie,  except  to  ask, 
since  we  must  go  and  go  at  once,  whether  you  will  go  with 
us." 

"You  didn't  need  to  ask  dat,  honey.  When  Massa  Pryor 
called  me  inter  de  parlor  de  night  you  wor  born,  an'  put  you 
in  my  arms  an'  says,  '  Take  good  care  of  my  dear  little 
daughter,'  I  thinks  dis  will  comfort  my  pore  heart  fur  my 
own  picaninny  what  de  Lord  tuk  to  hisself.  Sence  dat 
night  you's  bin  my  own  chile,  an'  if  you  wor  called  to  go  to 
de  bottom  of  de  sea  Aunt  Eunice  would  go  to." 

"  I  know  it,  Auntie.  I  know  you  will  never  leave  me 
while  I  live,  and  if  I  should  die  in  that  dreadful  country,  or 
on  my  way  there,  you  will  take  care  of  Winnie  ?  " 

"  Don't  go  fur  to  talk  o'  dyin'  chile,  an' break  yer  pore 
ole  Auntie's  heart.  De  Lord  what  went  with  His  chillen 
t'rough  de  sea  an'  t 'rough  de  wilderness  He  will  go  with 
us.  Ef  Massa  Wallace  goes,  its  right  fur  you  to  go  too  an' 


46  IN  THE  TOILS. 

in  de  right  way  de  angel  ob  de  Lord  will  take  car'  o'  dem 
as  puts  dere  trust  in  Him." 

"Thank  you,  Auntie  for  reminding  me  of  that.  lam 
afraid  I  forgot  for  a  little  while  His  promise  to  be  with  us 
always,  even  to  the  end  of  the  world.  Only  one  thing  more 
Aunt  Eunice.  Don't  speak  in  Mr.  Wallace's  hearing,  as 
though  any  of  us  thought  it  a  hardship  to  go,  and  don't  let 
any  one  talk  to  Winnie  about  the  Mormons.  I  should  be 
sorry  to  have  anything  said  to  hurt  her  father's  feelings,  and 
she  might  repeat  something  that  would  wound  him." 

"  Nebber  you  fear  Mis'  Esther,  I'll  take  care  o'  dat.  An' 
now  honey  you  must  tell  what  you  want  me  to  do  'bout  gettin' 
yer  things  ready,  'cause  dat  ar  Sophy  ain't  no  manner  o' 
'count  when  dere's  anything pertikler  for  to  do,  an'  she  don't 
need  to  know  'bout  yer  goin'  away  jess  yet  nohow." 

"  I  will  see  about  that  this  afternoon  Auntie.  I  am  going  to 
to  the  village  now,  and  I  want  you  to  watch  Winnie  a  little. 
Don't  say  anything  to  her  about  our  leaving  just  yet.  I  will 
talk  to  her  myself  to-night. 


PART   I.— CHAPTER  iv. 

CHRISTIAN    COUNSEL. THE    DEPARTURE. 

Esther's  errand  to  the  village  was  to  call  on  Father  Bel- 
den  and  his  wife  and  acquaint  them  with  the  step  she  was 
about  to  take.  She  did  not  feel  as  though  she  could  talk 
with  any  one  else  about  the  matter,  and  when  she  came  in 
sight  of  the  parsonage  and  thought  of  the  remonstrances  and 
entreaties  with  which  her  announcement  would  be  received, 
her  courage  began  to  fail,  and  could  she  have  gone  away 
without  seeing  even  these  kind  friends,  or  bidding  any  one 
good-bye  she  would  have  turned  back.  She  knew  however 
that  this  could  not  be,  and  so  suffered  herself  to  be  driven 
to  the  house  with  feelings  approaching  those  of  a  criminal 
led  to  execution. 

When  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  door,  the  good  pastor 
and  his  wife  met -her  with  their  accustomed  cordiality,  but 
in  their  friendly  greeting  there  was  a  mixture  of  sympathy 
and  commiseration,  which  did  not  escape  her  notice.  As 
soon  as  they  were  seated  in  the  house,  Esther,  determined 
to  have  the  worst  over  at  once,  said  without  preface : 

"  Father  Belden,  what  you  told  me  last  night  my  husband 
has  himself  confirmed.  He  has  cast  in  his  lot  with  the 
Mormons,  and  is  so  firmly  convinced  that  his  salvation  de 
pends  on  his  '  gathering  with  the  Saints,'  as  he  terms  it,  that 
if  1  do  not  consent  to  accompany  him  to  Utah,  he  will  leave 
wife,  child,  and  home  and  go  alone.  He  has  not  come  to 


48  IN  THE  TOILS. 

this  decision  without  a  great  struggle  and  much  suffering, 
and — I  cannot  let  him  go  alone." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  have  decided  to  risk 
your  own  future  and  that  of  your  child  in  Utah,  and  among 
a  people  worse  than  heathen?  " 

"  Yes,  Father  Belden,  I  mean  that.  I  cannot  possibly 
prevent  my  husband  going,  and  I  cannot  let  him  go  with  no 
one  to  watch  over  him  or  care  for  him.  He  is  no  more  fit 
to  take  care  of  himself  than  a  child,  and  no  more  responsible 
for  his  acts.  If  he  had  deliberately  chosen  to  make  his 
home  with  this  people,  when  in  his  right  mind,  the  cas^ 
would  be  different,  but  as  it  is  my  duty  is  clear." 

"  Surely  if  his  mind  is  in  such  a  state  that  he  is  not  re 
sponsible  for  what  he  does,  he  might  be  placed  under  re 
straint,  and  hindered  from  taking  a  step  that  he  will  regret 
as  long  as  he  lives',  if  he  ever  comes  to  himself." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  any  such  measure  could  be  adopted 
even  if  I  could  bring  myself  to  consent  to  it.  Charles  is  as 
capable  of  transacting  ordinary  business  as  he  ever  was  ;  it 
is  only  on  religious  subjects  that  his  mind  is  unsettled.  I 
promised  to  cleave  to  him  in  sickness  and  in  health,  and  in 
this  sickness  of  the  mind,  so  peculiar  in  its  nature,  he  has 
double  need  of  me." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  right,"  said  the  pastor's  aged 
wife,  laying  her  wrinkled  hand  tenderly  on  Esther's.  "  No 
thing  but  deliberate  crime  on  her  husband's  part  can  ab 
solve  a  woman  from  her  vow  to  cleave  to  him  until  death 
parts  them,  and  I  question  sometimes  if  even  that  can." 

"  But  consider,"  interposed  Father  Belden,  "  the  sort  of 
people  among  whom  Esther  must  make  her  home.  I  have 
taken  some  pains  to  inform  myself  with  regard  to  them,  and 
I  am  well  assured  that  their  practices  are  on  a  par  with  those 
of  the  lowest  portion  of  heathendom.  Crimes  that  are  a  dis 
grace  to  humanity  are  committed  by  them  in  the  name  of  re- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  49 

ligion,  and  if  they  choose  to  make  Esther  and  her  child  the 
victims  of  their  barbarous  creed,  what  is  to  hinder  them  ? 
They  live  in  the  heart  of  the  wilderness,  a  thousand  miles 
Irom  civilization,  in  valleys  walled  in  by  impassable  moun- 
;ains  and  sui rounded  by  savage  deserts.  Once  shut  up 
among  them,  there  will  be  no  escape  for  her." 

"  She  will  still  be  under  the  care  of  One  who  has  said, 
'  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters  I  will  be  with  thee, 
and  through  the  depths  they  shall  not  overflow  thee.  When 
thou  passest  through  the  fire  thou  shalt  not  be  burned, 
neither  shall  the  flames  kindle  upon  thee.'  In  His  hands 
she  will  be  just  as  safe  there  as  here  by  our  own  fireside." 

"  Well,  I  ought  to  be  ashamed,  I  suppose,  of  the  weakness 
of  my  own  faith.  After  preaching  for  fifty  years  that  the 
Lord  is  a  stronghold  in  the  day  of  trouble,  I  should  not 
hesitate  to  tell  Esther  to  put  His  faithfulness  to  the  test, 
only  in  the  present  instance  I  fear  that  to  take  the  step  she 
intends  would  be  tempting  God  rather  than  trusting  Him." 

"  I  think,"  said  Esther,  "  that  perhaps  a  woman's  divinely 
implanted  instincts  may  be  the  best  guide  here.  My  own 
heart  says  '  go.'  Aunt  Eunice  whose  faithful  affection  is 
second  only  to  a  mother's  love  says:  'go  with  your  hus 
band,'  and  now  Mrs.  Belden  repeats  the  same  thing." 

"  If  your  duty  is  perfectly  clear  to  you,  then  I  have  no 
right  to  advise  otherwise,  and  if  my  poor  prayers  can  help 
you,  you  know  they  will  go  up  for  you  night  and  day.'' 

"  One  thing  more  I  have  to  ask  of  you,  my  dear  friends, 
my  best  friends.  I  do  not  feel  equal  to  talking  this  matter 
over  with  any  one  who  may  come  to  bid  me  good-bye,  and 
I  want  you,  if  possible,  to  stand  between  me  and  the  ques 
tions  and  remonstrances  that  I  shrink  from  meeting.  Ex 
plain  my  motives  to  my  friends  if  you  think  best,  but  beg 
them  not  to  speak  to  me  on  the  subject." 

"We  will  do  that  willingly,  and  if  there  is  any  other  way 


50  IN  THE  TOILS. 

in  which  we  can  serve  you,  you  have  only  to  let  us  know 
it." 

A  few  inquiries  with  regard  to  her  plans,  a  few  more  kind 
words  of  counsel  and  sympathy,  and  Esther  took  leave  of 
these  friends  of  many  years. 

We  must  now  pass  over,  as  briefly  as  possible,  the  week 
that  intervened  between  this  time  and  the  day  of  their  de 
parture.  Their  home  was  sold  for  ten  thousand  dollars  ;  as 
good  a  price  as  it  would  have  commanded  under  any  cir 
cumstances.  In  addition  to  this  sum  Esther  made  arrange 
ments  to  take  with  her  a  small  portion  of  her  own  money, 
but  the  bulk  of  her  fortune,  amounting  to  over  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  was  invested  according  to  her  previous  de 
termination.  She  did  not  see  Hanvood  while  these  arrange 
ments  were  being  made,  and  her  husband  was  not  very 
communicative  with  regard  to  him,  but  she  gathered  enough 
to  know  he  was  disappointed  by  thesmallness  of  the  amount 
he  had  captured  with  his  convert.  He  accepted  the  situa 
tion,  however,  with  a  good  grace,  and  in  one  respect  and 
only  one  as  Esther  thought,  proved  himself  a  safe  and  wise 
counsellor.  He  had  taken  the  journey  which  they  contem 
plated,  so  often,  that  he  was  able  to  give  and  did  give  valu 
able  advice  with  regard  to  the  preparations  they  should 
make.  They  were  to  go  by  rail  and  steamer  to  St.  Louis, 
and  thence  up  the  Missouri  to  Florence,  a  settlement  a  few 
miles  north  of  the  present  site  of  Omaha.  Here  they  were 
to  join  a  company  of  Mormon  emigrants,  and  with  them 
make  the  long  trip  across  the  plains. 

Money  is  a  wonderful  leveller  of  difficulties,  and  in  the 
short  space  of  a  fortnight  all  the  arrangements  for  a  journey 
of  nearly  three  thousand  miles  were  completed. 

And  this  journey,  be  it  remembered,  differed  somewhat 
from  the  trip  across  the  continent  which  the  tourist  now 


IN  THE  TOILS.  51 

makes  in  a  week,  without  leaving  his  palace  car  and  without 
missing  any  of  the  comforts  of  his  home. 

They  must  start  in  June  to"  be  sure  of  reaching  their  desti 
nation  before  winter,  and  must  endure  hardships,  and  en 
counter  difficulties  and  dangers  of  which  the  traveller  of  to 
day  can  form  only  a  faint  idea. 

Winnie  was  perhaps  the  only  member  of  the  family  who 
was  thoroughly  interested  in  the  details  of  their  journey,  or 
the  preparations  that  were  being  made  for  it.  Her  mother 
had  been  careful  not  to  allow  her  to  hear  anything  about 
the  Mormons,  so  there  was  nothing  to  dampen  her  delight  in 
the  prospect  of  seeing  the  beautiful  and  wonderful  country 
to  which  her  father  told  her  they  were  going. 

Mr.  Wallace  himself  displayed  some  enthusiasm 'with  re 
gard  to  the  great  West,  but  his  mind  was  too  much  absorbed 
in  the  new  faith  he  had  embraced  to  be  very  deeply  interested 
in  outward  things. 

As  for  Esther,  having  once  determined  upon  the  course, 
she  went  through  the  ordeal  of  preparation  for  departure 
with  a  degree  of  outward  cheerfulness  that  surprised  her 
friends,  but  there  was  a  dead  weight  upon  her  heart  that  it 
seemed  to  her  she  must  carry  forever. 

Through  the  kindness  of  her  pastor  and  his  wife,  she  was 
spared  the  pitying  comments,  as  well  as  the  expostulations  of 
neighbors  and  acquaintances,  and  she  was  able  to  bid  them 
all  good-bye  with  no  more  display  of  emotion  than  though 
she  had  only  been  going  away  for  a  year. 

But  there  was  one  farewell  she  felt  she  must  take  when  no 
human  eye  could  look  upon  her.  On  the  very  last  day  that 
they  spent  in  their  beautiful  home,  and  just  as  the  sun  was 
setting,  she  went  alone  to  the  little  grave  that  held  the  pre 
cious  dust  of  the  golden-haired  baby  that  was  taken  from  her 
arms  to  sleep  under  the  violets. 

The  mound,  such   a   short  one,  was  bright  with  summer 


52  IN  THE  TOILS. 

flowers,  and  the  branches  of  the  willows  drooped  low  over  the 
marble  tablet  that  bore  the  inscription.  "  Arthur,  only  son  of 
Charles  and  Esther  Wallace,  aged  nine  months." 

Her  gaze  lingered  long  on -these  words  and  on  those  be 
neath  :  "  He  shall  bear  the  lambs  in  His  arms  and  carry  them 
in  His  bosom."  Then  dropping  :n  her  knees  and  laying  her 
face  on  the  fragrant,  flower-decked  sod,  she  moaned,  "  Oh 
my  lamb  ;  my  lamb  !  my  little  baby  that  it  was  so  hard  to 
part  with,  why  did  I  shrink  from  giving  you  up  into  His  arms. 
You  at  least  are  saved  from  the  evil  to  come.  Good-bye, 
my  baby,  good-bye." 

Only  a  mother  can  know  the  feelings  with  which  Esther 
took  this  last  farewell  of  the  spot  where  her  baby  slept. 
None  else  could  understand  why  it  was  harder  to  leave  this 
little  mound  of  earth,  than  the  home  where  her  happiest 
years  had  been  spent.  But  the  mother  who  has  wet  her  pil 
low  with  tears  on  many  a  winter  night,  because  the  baby 
that  used  to  nestle  safe  and  warm  in  her  bosom  must  now 
lie  under  the  snow,  can  realize  the  pain  that  wrung  her  heart 
at  the  thought  of  going  so  far  away  from  the  little  grave  she 
had  watched  and  tended  year  after  year. 

The  sun  had  set  and  the  shadows  were  gathering,  but  still 
Esther  lingered  until  her  husband  came  down  the  garden 
path  seeking  her. 

At  the  sight  of  the  kneeling  figure,  so  skaken  with  sobs, 
the  first  misgivings  that  he  had  felt  with  regard  to  his  course 
oppressed  him,  and  raising  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  he 
asked  : 

"  Is  the  sacrifice  too  great,  dearest  ?  Have  I  asked  too 
much  of  you  ?  " 

"  No,  love ;  but  it  is  hard  to  go  so  far  and  leave  my  baby 
all  alone." 

'  "  We  will  not  be  going  farther  away  from  him.  He  is  not 
here,  we  know,  but  safe  in  our  Father's  house,  and  the  pre- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  53 

cious  dust  that  we  have  watched  over  for  years  will  be  left 
in  his  care." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  and  this  pain  will  not  last  long  I  hope, 
but  for  a  little  while  it  seemed  more  than  I  could  bear  to 
leave  this  spot." 

As  they  walked  back  to  the  house,  on  this  last  night  that 
they  expected  to  spend  under  its  roof,  calling  up  many 
tender  memories  of  the  past,  Esther  could  not  help  wonder 
ing  that  the  new  and  baleful  belief  which  had  taken  hold 
upon  her  husband's  mind  should  retain  its  power  over  him, 
while  in  every  other  respect  he  now  seemed  himself  again. 
She  had  avoided  conversation  on  the  subject  hitherto,  and 
to-night  she  shrank  from  anything  that  would  jar  upon  his 
feelings  in  the  softened  mood  in  which,  he  appeared,  and  so 
the  only  opportunity  of  winning  him  back  was  lost ;  for,could 
Esther  have  looked  into  her  husband's  heart  as  he  stood 
by  his  child's  grave,  she  would  have  seen  a  relenting  of  pur 
pose  and  rising  doubts  as  to  whether  the  call  he  was  obey 
ing  at  so  great  a  cost  was  indeed  Divine. 

The  next  morning  found  them  in  the  midst  of  the  hurry 
of  their  final  preparations  for  departure.  Elder  Harwood 
came  to  the  house,  for  the  first  time  since  his  visit  in  May, 
with  offers  of  assistance  He  accompanied  them  to  the  cars 
and  said  as  he  took  leave  of  them  : 

"  I  may  meet  you  at  Florence,  but  I  am  not  certain.  At 
any  rate,  I  will  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  in  Salt 
Lake  City  this  winter." 

His  manner  to  Esther  throughout  was  one  of  deferential 
courtesy,  and  for  her  husband's  sake  she  did  not  wish  to 
treat  him  with  positive  rudeness,  but  she  was  heartily 
glad  when  the  cars  bore  them  away  from  the  spot,  and  she 
was  free  from  the  night-mare  of  his  presence.  Once,  just 
before  starting,  she  saw  his  glittering  eyes  fixed  on  Winnie 
in  a  way  that  reminded  her  of  her  dream,  and  involuntarily 


54  IN  THE  TOILS. 

she  drew  the  child  towards  her  and  threw  an  arm  around 
her  to  shield  her. 

Their  journey  to  St.  Louis  was  not  marked  by  any  inci 
dent  worthy  of  notice,  and  was  not  specially  enjoyed  by 
any  of  the  party  except  Winnie,  to  whom  the  voyage  down 
the  Ohio  was  as  full  of  wonders  as  a  trip  to  Fairy-land. 

At  St.  Louis  they  stopped  long  enough  to  purchase  teams 
and  wagons  for  the  transportation  of  their  goods  across  the 
plains,  and  a  carriage  for  their  own  use.  The  steamer  upon 
which  they  took  passage  up  the  Missouri  was  small  and 
crowded.  The  navigation  of  this  river  is  attended  with  con 
siderable  difficulty  at  any  time,  as  those  who  have  tried  it 
know  to  their  cost,  and  at  low  water  can  only  be  attempted 
by  boats  "  constructed,"  as  one  veracious  chronicler  as 
sures,  us  "to  run  anywhere  the  ground  is  a  little  damp." 
Our  travellers,  making  the  trip  in  July,  did  not  meet  with 
the  delays  they  would  have  experienced  later  in  the  season  ; 
still  their  progress  was  sufficiently  slow,  and  the  discomforts 
of  their  crowded  quarters  made  them  very  glad  of  the  end 
of  the  voyage. 

Arrived  at  Florence  they  found  that  only  the  van  of  the 
emigrant  company  had  reached  the  place  before  them. 
These  were  encamped  just  beyond  the  town,  waiting  for  the 
main  body.  They  were  principally  converts  gathered  from 
the  Middle  and  Western  States,  and  the  appearance  of  most 
of  them  fully  justified  Aunt  Eunice's  epithet  of  "  Pore 
white  trash."  They  were  in  charge  of  an  Elder  under  whose 
preaching  many  of  them  had  been  converted  ;  a  man  with 
red  hair,  a  red  face,  and  a  very  loud  voice.  He  was  not  a 
prepossessing  individual,  certainly,  still  Esther  thought  she 
would  sooner  trust  him  than  Brother  Harwood,  and  his  blunt 
manners  and  rough  speech  were  quite  refreshing  to  her 
as  contrasted  with  that  gentleman's  smooth  ways  and  care 
fully  worded  sentences. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  55 

When  explaining  the  mysteries  of  his  faith,  there  was  a 
peculiar  twinkle  in  his  small  blue  eyes  which  conveyed  to 
an  acute  observer  the  idea  that  he  was  not  very  deeply  im 
pressed  himself  with  the  doctrines  he  taught,  but  in  his  re 
lations  to  his  people  he  seemed  kindly  and  honest.  He 
fared  as  roughly  as  the  poorest,  and  was  always  :eady  to 
lend  a  helping  hand  to  those  who  were  in  trouble. 

When  the  Wallaces  arrived  on  the  ground,  he  waited  on 
them  at  once  with  offers  of  assistance,  but  was  no  more  at 
tentive  to  them  in  this  or  in  any  other  respect,  than  to  the 
humblest  of  his  own  flock.  Esther  took  note  of  this,  and 
thought  for  the  sake  of  his  kindness  to  the  poor  and  the 
lowly,  she  could  excuse  many  things  in  Brother  Daniels  that 
undeniably  needed  the  mantle  of  charity.  She  was  destined 
to  learn,  before  she  had  been  many  days  in  the  Mormon 
camp,  how  much  more  she  would  have  to  excuse  in  Bro 
ther  Daniels,  and  in  others  than  she  had  dreamed. 

Among  the  emigrants  was  a  pale  and  rather  pretty  girl  of 
about  sixteen,  who  attracted  Esther's  attention  from  the 
fact  that  she  seemed  entirely  alone.  She  gave  her  name  as 
Lucy  Ferris,  and  was  soon  won  by  the  kindness  Esther 
showed  her,  to  tell  her  story.  She  had  been  well  brought 
up,  and  had  received  a  tolerable  education,  but  when  she 
was  twelve  years  old  her  mother  died,  and  her  father  mar 
ried  a  woman  of  violent  temper,  who  ruled  him  and  every 
one  else  on  the  place  with  a  rod  of  iron.  Poor  Lucy's  life 
was  rendered  so  miserable  by  her  step-mother's  tyranny, 
against  which  her  weak-minded  father  never  protested,  that 
she  more  than  once  formed  the  plan  of  running  away,  and 
when  the  Mormon  preacher  came  to  their  neighborhood 
and  told  of  the  happy  homes  that  were  prepared  already  in 
"  Zion  "  for  all  who  would  embrace  the  new  gospel,  she  re 
ceived  his  words  as  a  message  from  Heaven,  and  fled  from 
her  father's  house  in  the  night,  taking  nothing  with  her  but 


5 6  IN  THE  TOILS. 

the  clothes  she  wore,  to  join  him  and  his  little  band  of  con 
verts.  Since  then  Brother  Daniels  had  provided  for  her, 
and  brought  her  thus  far  on  her  way. 

"But  what  will  you  do,  my  poor  child,  after  you  get  to 
Utah  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wallace. 

"Oh!  there  are  homes  there  for  all,  and  even  if  there 
were  none  for  me.  Brother  Daniels  would  provide  for  me,  I 
am  to  be  sealed  to  him  as  soon  as  we  reach  Salt  Lake," 

"  Sealed  to  him  !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  know,  the  gospel  teaches  that  a  woman  must 
be  saved  through  her  husband.  I  have  no  husband  nor  any 
friend  to  care  for  me,  so  I  am  to  be  married  to  Brother 
Daniels  for  eternity,  and  in  the  Celestial  Kingdom  I  will  be 
his  wife  and  he  will  save  me." 

"  Brother  Daniels  is  not  married  then  ?  I  thought  I  had 
heard  him  speak  of  his  family." 

"  Oh  yes  !  he  has  a  wife  and  children  in  Salt  Lake,  but  you 
do  not  understand.  It  is  for  eternity  that  I  am  to  be  mar 
ried  to  him.  It  is  a  spiritual  marriage." 

"  What  position  will  he  hold  toward  you  then  in  this 
life  ?  " 

"  He  has  not  explained  that  to  me  yet.  Indeed,  it  is  only 
since  we  came  here,  that  he  has  said  anything  to  me  about 
being  sealed  to  him." 

"  Lucy,  I  am  afraid  of  this  doctrine,  which  Brother  Dan 
iels  preaches  and  you  believe.  If  you  go  through  a  cere 
mony  with  him,  that  makes  you,  as  you  say,  his  wife  in  eter 
nity,  his  relations  to  you  here  will  be  such  as  must  be  very 
unsafe  for  a  friendless  and  helpless  girl  like  you." 

"  Oh  dear  Mrs.  Wallace,"  said  the  girl  earnestly,  "  you 
don't  know'  Brother  Daniels  as  I  do.  He  is  good  in  every 
way,  and  would  cut  his  right  hand  off  before  he  would  harm 
me." 

"Well,  Lucy,  I  only  hope  he  may  justify  your  good  opin- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  57 

ion  of  him.  I  think  myself  he  is  well-meaning  and  kind- 
hearted,  but  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  would  have  him  ex 
plain  fully  what  he  means  by  a  spiritual  marriage,  before 
promising  to  enter  into  one.  You  are  a  good  girl,  I  be 
lieve,  and  don't  want  to  do  anything  that  you  would  not 
like  your  mother  to  know  if  she  can  look  down  on  you  from 
heaven." 

"  No,  no,"  said  poor  Lucy  bursting  into  tears,  "  and  if 
she  were  only  here  now  to  tell  me  what  to  do,  I  should  be 
sure  of  going  right.  But  I  am  all  alone.  T  have  no  friend 
on  earth  but  Brother  Daniels,  and  if  I  should  be  disap 
pointed  in  him  I  would  not  know  where  to  go  or  what 
would  become  of  me  :  but  I  cannot  believe  he  would  wrong 
a  poor  girl  who  has  left  everything  because  she  thought  he 
came  to  her  with  a  message  from  God." 

"  We  will  hope  he  is  not  bad  enough  for  that.  I  do  not 
think  he  is,  but,  my  poor  child,  you  need  not  say  you  have 
no  other  friend.  I  will  be  your  friend  if  you  will  let  me, 
and  if  you  fail  to  find  a  good  home  elsewhere,  you  will 
be  welcome  to  one  with  me.  In  the  meantime,  I  will 
speak  to  Brother  Daniels  myself  about  this  new  doctrine. 
I  think  he  is  honest  enough  to  tell  me  just  what  he  means." 

Mrs.  Wallace  was  anxious  to  carry  out  this  promise  to 
Lucy,  for  more  reasons  than  one.  In  her  own  home  she 
had  heard  vague  stories  about  the  Mormon  practice  of  tak 
ing  more  wives  than  one,  but  she  had  paid  very  little  atten 
tion  to  such  reports.  Now  that  she  was  going  with  her 
husband  to  make  her  home  with  the  people  against  whom 
such  things  were  alleged,  the  question  of  the  truth  or  the 
falsity  of  these  charges  became  of  the  greatest  importance 
She  had  ventured  to  speak  to  her  husband  about  the  mat 
ter  once  or  twice  before  they  had  started,  but  he  indignantly 
repelled  the  idea,  and  assured  her  that  the  whole  thing  was 
the  coinage  of  some  enemy  of  the  Saints  in  the  West,  who 


58  IN  THE  TOILS. 

wished  to  find  a  pretext  for  the  outrage  they  had  committed 
in  driving  those  inoffensive  people  from  their  homes  and 
forcing  them  into  the  wilderness.  Lucy's  story  convinced 
her,  however,  that  there  must  be  some  foundation  for  the 
charges,  and  she  determined  to  learn  the  truth  from  Bro 
ther  Daniels  if  possible. 

She  did  not  find  an  opportunity  of  speaking  with  him  that 
day,  but  on  the  next  afternoon  he  called  at  the  place  where 
they  were  encamped  to  see  Mr.  Wallace.  He  and  Winnie 
were  both  away,  but  would  return,  as  she  informed  the 
Elder,  in  a  couple  of  hours,  and  judging  this  to  be  as  favor 
able  an  occasion  as  she  would  find  for  conversation,  she 
asked  him  to  wait  for  her  husband. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  task  that  she  had  undertaken,  and 
she  found  it  rather  difficult  to  state  the  question  that  she 
was  so  desirous  of  having  answered. 

She  did  not  like  to  use  Lucy's  name,  but  finally  concluded 
it  would  be  best  to  tell  him  without  reserve  what  had  passed 
between  them  so  she  said  : 

"  Brother  Daniels,  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Lucy  Fer 
ris  yesterday,  on  a  subject  that  I  would  like  to  be  enlight 
ened  about.  She  tells  me  that  as  so$n  as  we  reach  Salt 
Lake,  she  is  to  become  your  spiritual  wife,  but  she  does  not 
know  exactly  what  that  relation  implies,  nor  do  I,  and  as  I 
am  going  to  make  my  home  among  your  people,  with  my 
husband  and  daughter,  who  must  grow  to  womanhood  there, 
I  am  as  much  interested  in  having  this  matter  explained  as 
Lucy  is.  Now,  I  do  not  know  anyone  except  yourself  to 
whom  I  can  apply  for  information,  and  I  rely  on  your  kind 
ness  and  candor  for  a  full  answer  to  my  question.  Will  you 
tell  me  just  what  is  meant  by  spiritual  marriage,  as  practiced 
by  the  Latter  Day  Saints  ?  '' 

Esther  thought  that  Brother  Daniels'  ruddy  face  flushed 


IN  THE  TOILS.  59 

a  shade  deeper  as  she  put  this  question,  and  his  keen  blue 
eyes  were  cast  down  as  he  answered: 

"  It  is  a  doctrine  of  our  church  that  man  is  the  head  and 
savior  of  women,  as  Christ  is  the  Savior  of  man.  A  woman 
is  saved  through  her  husband,  and  she  must  be  married  to 
him  not  only  for  time  but  for  eternity,  to  obtain  the  benefits 
of  the  gospel.  Marriage  for  eternity  is  far  more  important 
than  marriage  for  time.  This  young  girl,  of  whom  you 
speak,  I  propose  to  have  sealed  to  me  for  eternity,  to  insure 
her  final  salvation."  , 

"  But  you  have  a  wife,  have  you  not  ?  Would  it  not  be 
better  for  Lucy  to  be  sealed  to  an  unmarried  man  ?  " 

The  Elder  hesitated,  and  cleared  his  throat  once  or  twice 
before  attempting  a  reply  to  this.  At  length  he  said : 

"It  does  not  become  me  to  boast  of  my  own  attainments, 
but  it  is  our  belief  that  the  higher  a  man  ranks  in  the  priest 
hood,  the  greater  will  be  the  degree  of  exaltation  which  he 
can  confer  on  his  wife  in  the  Celestial  Kingdom.  Now  our 
unmarried  men  are  very  young,  mere  boys,  in  fact,  and  have 
not  had  time  or  opportunity  to  rise  very  high,  consequently 
many  of  the  girls  who  have  come  among  us  see  the  wisdom 
of  being  sealed  to  older  men.  Besides,  there  are  more 
women  than  men  in  our  church,  so  that  it  would  be  impos 
sible  for  every  single  woman  among  our  converts  to  be  sealed 
to  an  unmarried  man." 

"  Brother  Daniels,"  said  Esther,  looking  fixedly  at  him, 
*'I  have  just  one  more  question  to  ask,  and  I  want  you  to 
to  answer  it  honestly.  If  this  girl,  Lucy,  is  sealed  to  you 
for  eternity,  as  you  say,  what  will  be  her  relation  to  you  in 
this  life  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Wallace,  there  are  many  of  our  missionaries  who 
would  evade  that  question,  or  give  an  answer  not  in  accor 
dance  with  the  facts,  and  would  think  that  our  peculiar  cir 
cumstances  justified  them  in  doing  so,  but  I  will  answer  hon- 


60  IN  THE  TOILS. 

estly,  as  you  have  asked  me  to.  If  Lucy  does  not  object,  I 
will  provide  a  home  for  her,  take  as  good  care  of  her  as  I 
possibly  can,  and  make  her  my  wife  in  every  sense  of  the 
word.  If,  however,  she  cannot  see  this  to  be  right,  I  will 
not  attempt  to  coerce  her,  or  to  take  any  advantage  of  her 
friendless  condition.  My  views  may  shock  you  very  much, 
but  I  think  I  am  man  enough  to  act  fairly  toward  a  help 
less  girl.  If  Lucy  does  not  wish  to  be  my  wife  in  this  world, 
I  will  find  a  home  for  her  in  some  good  family,  and-  she 
may  marry  a  young  man  for  time,  but  she  will  still  be  my 
wife  in  eternity  " 

"  Your  views  do  certainly  shock  me,  but  I  appreciate  your 
honesty  and  manliness,  and  only  wish  all  your  brethren' pos 
sessed  the  same  qualities.  If  you  are  willing  to  ta^k  freely 
on  this  subject,  perhaps  I  may  inquire  further  whether  it  is 
the  general  practice  for  girls  who  are  sealed  for  eternity  to 
men  already  married,  to  live  with  them  as  their  wives  in  this 
world  ?  " 

"  It  is.  Most  of  the  wives  who  hold  purely  spiritual  rela 
tions  to  their  husbands  are  elderly  women,  who  come  here 
as  widows,  or  who  have  been  cast  off  by  their  families  for 
embracing  our  faith.  It  is  thought  by  u  to  be  best  for  the 
young  women  that  their  spiritual  husbands  should  also  be 
their  husbands  for  time.  I  will  tell  you  my  own  history  if 
you  care  to  hear  it,  as  it  is  also  the  history  of  hundreds  of 
my  brethren,  and  will  serve  to  set  this  matter  before  you 
in  a  clearer  light  than  any  sermon  on  our  doctrines  could 
do. 

"My  parents  were  Presbyterians  of  the  most  rigid  type,  and 
tried  to  train  me  up  in  the  right  way  as  they  understood  it, 
but  I  was  a  wild  boy,  and  often  gave  them,  I  am  afraid,  a 
great  deal  of  trouble.  Religion,  as  taught  in  the  catechism 
I  was  compelled  to  repeat,  and  the  long  sermons  of  the 


IN  THE  TOILS.  6 1 

stern-faced  old  minister  who  filled  our  pulpit  for  more  years 
than  I  could  remember,  had  no  attractions  for  me,  and  I 
vowed  to  myself  many  times  that  when  I  was  once  a  man, 
and  my  own  master,  I  would  never  darken  the  door  of  a 
church. 

"  I  was  about  eighteen  when  I  first  heard  the  Mormons. 
One  of  their  missionaries  made  a  number  of  converts  in  our 
town,  and  I  went  to  their  meetings  a  few  times,  more  because 
my  father  had  ordered  me  to  keep  away  from  them  than  for 
any  other  reason,  but  the  truths  I  heard  there  stirred  my 
heart  as  nothing  had  ever  stirred  it  before,  and  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  cast  in  my  lot  with  them. 

"  I  was  baptized  secretly,  but  my  father  soon  found  out 
what  I  had  done,  and  as  neither  persuasions  nor  threats 
availed  to  induce  me  to  renounce  my  new  faith,  he  turned 
me  out  of  doors. 

"  I  went  at  once  to  the  missionary,  who  received  me  as  a 
brother  and  gave  me  a  home  in  his  house,  and  from  that 
day  forward  I  shared  the  wanderings  and  the  persecutions 
of  the  Saints.  Soon  after  we  settled  in  Nauvoo,  I  married 
a  good  and  sensible  girl,  a  great  deal  too  good  for  me  I 
thought  her  then,  and  I  still  think  the  same.  We  were  very 
happy  together,  but  the  Saints  had  no  rest  in  Nauvoo.  The 
same  spirit  that  animated  those  who  drove  us  out  of  our  for 
mer  homes  possessed  the  people  there,  and  every  man's 
hand  was  against  us.  Troubles  thickened  around  us  and  it 
soon  became  evident  that  we  must  fight  and  die  for  our 
faith  where  we  were  or  be  driven  into  the  wilderness. 

"  It  was  during  these  perilous  times  that  the  doctrine  of 
Celestial  Marriage  was  first  proclaimed  among  us,  and  then 
not  openly.  In  our  secret  meetings  our  attention  was  called 
to  the  perils  which  attended  us  all,  and  the  unprotected 
state  of  the  females  whose  families  had  cast  them  off  when 
they  joined  us,  and  counsel  was  given  to  have  all  the  un- 


62  IN  THE  TOILS. 

married  women  sealed  to  men  who  could  take  care  of  them. 
My  wife's  young  sister  was  living  with  us  at  the  time.  Her 
parents  were  dead,  and  as  she  had  no  other  home  or  friends 
I  was  counselled  to  marry  her. 

"  You,  Mrs.  Wallace,  could  not  experience  a  greater 
shock,  if  such  a  command  was  laid  upon  your  husband,  than 
I  did  at  £rst.  Little  Jane,  who  was  only  fifteen,  had  been 
to  me  like  my  own  sister,  or  like  one  of  my  children. 

"  And  then,  hardest  of  all,  was  the  thought  of  my  wife 
who  loved  me  so  much  better  than  I  deserved.  How  should 
I  ever  tell  her?  I  pass  over  the  miserable  day  and  night  I 
spent  before  I  found  courage  to  speak  to  her,  and  her  an 
guish  when  she  knew  all  was  teirible  to  see.  But  hard  as  it 
was  for  both  of  us,  we  dared  not  disobey  a  Divine  require 
ment. 

"  As  for  Jane,  she  was  neither  shocked  nor  distressed  as 
I  had  thought  she  would  be.  She  was  only  a  child,  and 
was  accustomed  to  receive  without  question  whatever  she 
was  taught,  so  I  think  without  any  misgivings  on  her  part, 
she  became  my  wife  for  time  and  eternity.  She  has  always 
lived  with  her  sister,  and  has  been,  on  the  whole  much  the 
happier  of  the  two.  Mary,  my  first  wife,  though  a  sincere 
believer  in  the  doctrine  that  has  cost  her  so  much,  has  not 
yet  learned  to  make  the  sacrifices  demanded  of  her  cheer 
fully,  and  I  can't  wonder  at  it.  The  only  wonder  is  that 
our  women  bear  as  well  as  they  do  the  heavy  cross  laid  on 
them,  and  I  own  that  the  sight  of  Mary's  patient,  sorrowful 
face  almost  breaks  my  heart  sometimes." 

He  paused  here,  and  wiped  great  drops  of  sweat  from  his 
forehead,  while  his  ruddy  color  faded  to  a  sickly  pallor,  and 
he  seemed  to  be  struggling  with  memories  that  overpowered 
him. 

Esther  watched  him  as  he  sat  silent  thinking. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  63 

"  There  is  good  in  him  after  all.  Oh,  for  some  power  to 
cause  the  scales  to  fall  from  his  eyes." 

After  a  few  minutes  he  resumed  : 

"  When  we  were  driven  from  Nauvoo  we  crossed  the  plains 
with  our  brethren  and  sisters  and  made  a  home  in  Salt  Lake. 
Here  I  was  greatly  prospered,  and  was  continually  urged  to 
take  another  wife,  as  I  was  well  able  to  support  a  large  fam 
ily.  Two  years  ago  I  took  a  young  English  girl  into  my 
house.  She  was  homeless,  friendless,  and  penniless.  I  mar 
ried  her,  gave  her  a  good  house  to  live  in,  and  provided  her 
with  every  comfort  before  I  started  on  this  mission.  She 
has  no  children.  Mary  and  her  sister  each  have  four.  I 
think  I  love  all  my  children  alike,  though  my  two  girls  that 
were  born  in  Nauvoo  in  the  happy  days  of  my  first  marriage 
seem  nearer  to  me  on  some  accounts." 

Here  Esther  felt  strongly  inclined  to  put  a  question  that 
she  feared  might  give  pain ;  still  she  thought  it  would  do 
him  no  harm  to  probe  his  faith  and  test  its  soundness  more. 
fully,  so  she  asked  : 

"  Do  you  love  all  your  wives  alike  ?  " 

"  Ah !  Mrs.  Wallace,  that  is  a  hard  question.  I  treat  them 
all  alike  as  my  religion  requires,  but  my  natural  inclinations 
are  not  entirely  subdued,  and  if  I  answer  honestly  I  must 
say  that  Mary  has  the  first  place  in  my  heart." 

At  this  point  their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
return  of  Winnie  and  her  father,  who  had  been  out  for  a 
drive  across  the  prairie. 

Mrs.  Wallace  thought  that  Brother  Daniels  looked  re 
lieved,  as  he  saw  her  husband  approaching,  and  she  could 
not  wonder  at  it,  for  the  inquisition  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected  would  have  been  trying  to  the  feelings  of  a  less 
sensitive  man  than  the  Elder  showed  himself  to  be. 

As  Mr.  Wallace  hospitably  insisted  that  their  visitor 
should  remain  to  supper,  and  afterwards  found  much  to  say 


64  IN  THE  TOILS. 

to  him  about  his  own  recent  experiences,  it  was  quite  late 
before  he  took  his  leave,  and  Esther  found  an  opportunity 
of  speaking  with-her  husband  about  the  afternoon's  conver 
sation. 

Remembering  how  positively  he  contradicted  the  reports 
she  had  heard  of  the  peculiar  marriage  customs  of  the  Saints, 
she  expected  that  he  would  be  still  more  shocked  and  sur 
prised  than  herself,  when  he  learned  the  facts,  but  though 
he  looked  disturbed  as  she  gave  him  Brother  Daniels'  state 
ments,  in  detail,  they  did  not  affect  him  as  she  supposed 
they  would. 

After  hearing  all  she  had  to  tell  he  said : 

"  Brother  Harwood  never  mentioned  the  subject  of  celes 
tial  marriage  to  me,  so  I  cannot  think  that  the  Saints  count 
it  among  the  most  important  truths  of  the  gospel.  Brother 
Daniels  is  a  good  man,  but  as  you  can  see,  he  belongs  to  a 
class  from  whom  we  may  expect  more  zeal  than  knowledge. 
Since  we  came  here,  I  have  learned  from  him  and  others 
something  with  regard  to  the  nature  and  object  of  these 
spiritual  marriages,  but  I  am  certain  that  he  lays  altogether 
too  much  stress  on  the  doctrine.  You  cannot  possibly 
reprobate  the  practice  of  polygamy,  as  he  admits  it,  more 
strongly  than  I  do.  It  is  one  of  those  abuses  that  creep  in 
to  the  church  through  the  weakness  and  blindness  of  human 
nature,  but  we  must  not  reject  the  truth  because  of  the  er 
ror  that  is  mixed  with  it.  Under  the  present  conditions  of 
humanity  we  will  never  find  a  body  of  believers  who  hold  no 
mistaken  views,  and  indulge  in  no  erroneous  practices.  The 
Latter-day  Saints,  as  I  am  firmly  convinced,  hold  more 
truth  and  less  error  than  any  other  religious  community  on 
earth,  and  as  they  are  likewise  the  only  people  who  show 
their  faith  by  their  works,  and  endure  all  things  for  the  gos 
pel's  sake,  I  still  feel  called  to  join  myself  to  them.  I  deeply 
regret  the  existence  of  plural  marriage  among  them,  but  I 


IN  THE  TOILS.  65 

am  sure  that  when  we  get  there  we  shall  find  it  practiced 
principally  by  the  class  of  people  of  whom  Brother  Daniels 
is  a  representative,  and  we  need  not  affiliate  with  them." 

"  But  think  for  a  moment,"  said  Esther,  "  of  bringing  up 
our  daughter  in  the,  midst  of  such  surroundings.     You  know* 
how  impressible  she  is,  and  how  easily  influenced   by  what 
she  sees  and  hears." 

"  I  will  trust  her  mother's  counsel  and  example  to  keep 
her  from  every  snare.  There  is  no  danger  of  her  being 
brought  in  contact  with  anything  of  the  sort  at  home,  and 
you  can  choose  her  associates  outside  of  the  family." 

"  We  are  not  certain  that  we  can  always  avoid  receiving 
the  members  of  polygamous  families  into  our  house,  and  if 
spiritual  marrriage  proves  to  be  an  important  doctrine  among 
the  Saints,  you  will  doubtless  be  visited  and  admonished  by 
the  brethren  with  regard  to  your  own  duty  in  the  matter." 

"  Esther!  "  He  pronounced  this  one  word  so  reproach 
fully  and  looked  so  deeply  hurt  that  she  half  repented  of 
what  she  had  said,  but  though  she  saw  how  shocked  and 
wounded  he  was  now  at  the  bare  suggestion  that  his  breth 
ren  might  think  it  his  duty  to  take  another  wife,  she  knew 
that  the  same  idea  if  presented  to  him  again  and  again  in 
the  name  of  the  faith  he  had  espoused,  would  soon  grow  to 
appear  less  repulsive,  and  for  his  sake,  for  her  own,  and  for 
the  sake  of  their  child  she  was  determined  to  have  a  clear 
understanding  with  him  in  regard  to  the  matter,  though  at 
the  cost  of  a  little  present  pain.  So  without  giving  him 
time  to  protest  against  the  possibility  at  which  she  hinted, 
she  went  on  : 

"  I  have  been  told  that  the  Mormon  prophet  is  the  hus 
band  of  many  wives.  I  meant  to  have  questioned  Brother 
Daniels  to-day  as  to  the  truth  of  this  report,  but  you  can 
speak  to  him  yourself  about  it.  It  does  not  seem  reasonable, 
however,  that  plural  marriage  would  be  practised  by  the 


66  IN  THE  TOILS. 

people  without  his  sanction,  whether  he  sets  them  an  exam 
pie  in  the  matter  or  not." 

"  The  prophet  is  only  a  man,  and  liable  to  make  mistakes 
like  other  men.  If  he  has  erred  so  far  as  to  give  the  name 
'and  state  of  wife  to  more  women  than  one,  I  am  sorry,  but 
I  would  not  on  that  account  undervalue  the  good  he  has 
done,  or  reject  the  truth  he  teaches.  David  was  a  man 
after  God's  own  heart,  yet  he  erred  very  sadly  in  this  same 
way,  but  we  do  not  therefore  throw  aside  his  psalms." 

"  I  do  not  think  Brigham  Young  could  bring  the  excuses 
for  indulging  in  such  a  practice  to-day  that  David  had  some 
thousands  of  years  ago,  but  what  he  does  is  of  much  less  con 
sequence  to  me  than  what  you  may  do.  My  chief  fear  is 
that  a  long  residence  among  this  people  may  familiarize  you 
with  the  idea  of  plural  marriage,  and  make  it  less  repellant 
to  you  than  it  is  now." 

"  Esther,  I  did  not  expect  this  of  you,  and  I  don't  think 
I  have  deserved  it.  I  have  been  your  husband  eight  years. 
What  have  I  done,  or  failed  to  do,  in  all  that  time  to  weaken 
your  faith  in  me  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  dear,  I  have  trusted  you  all  in  all,  and  I  don't 
think  the  day  will  come  when  you  will  consciously  wrong 
me.  It  is  a  change  of  views,  not  a  change  in  heart,  of  which 
I  am  speaking.  Your  views  have  certainly  changed  greatly 
within  the  past  few  months,  and  in  this  very  particular. 
One  year  ago  you  would  have  found  a  much  stronger  term 
than  '  erroneous  '  to  desinate  such  a  practice  as  plural  mar 
riage." 

"  Well,  Esther,  if  you  think  it  possible  for  me  to  change  so 
greatly  as  to  forget  the  sacredness  of  my  marriage  vows,  I 
will  give  you  my  solemn,  written  promise,  here,  to-night, 
never  to  enter  into  a  marriage  covenant  with  any  woman 
save  yourself." 

"  No,  Charles.     If  the  promise  you  made  when  I  gave 


IN  THE  TOILS.  67 

the  happiness  of  my  whole  life  into  your  keeping  does  not 
bind  you,  nothing  will." 

"  But  I  insist  on  making  such  a  promise.  I  don't  want 
to  be  haunted  by  the  thought  that  you  are  living  in  daily 
fear  of  my  taking  another  wife." 

And  with  something  of  the  petulance  of  a  spoiled  child, 
Wallace  withdrew  in  search  of  his  writing  materials.  Esther 
looked  after  him  with  a  sad  smile. 

In   a  few   minutes   he  came  back   with   his  bond  in  his 

hand. 

It  was  a  legally  worded  document,  covering  about  a  page, 
and  dated  and  signed  in  due  formality.  He  asked  Esther 
to  read  it  and  place  it  with  her  marriage  certificate,  and  to 
please  him  she  did  so.  He  was  too  seriously  offended,  how 
ever,  to  get  over  it  at  once,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
married  life,  Esther  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow  without  her 
husband's  good-night  kiss. 

There  was  pain  enough  for  her  even  in  this  temporary 
estrangement,  as  any  wife  will  believe.  The  night  passed 
without  sleep,  and  the  next  morning  found  her  too  ill  to 
rise. 

The  sight  of  her  pale  face  touched  a  very  tender  chord 
in  her  husband's  heart,  and  with  all  the  affectionate  care 
that  he  would  have  shown  in  their  honeymoon  he  tried  to 
make  her  comfortable,  and  to  efface  unpleasant  remem 
brances.  He  did  not,  however,  allude  directly  to  the  last 
evening's  conversation,  nor  did  she,  and  the  subject  was 
not  mentioned  again  during  their  stay  at  Florence. 

Two  or  three  days  after  the  above  occurrence,  the  Eng 
lish  emigrants,  for  whom  they  were  waiting,  arrived  in 
camp.  They  numbered  over  eight  hundred,  and  embraced 
representatives  of  almost  every  class  of  the  middle  and 
lower  orders  of  English  society.  A  large  proportion  of  the 
company  were  laborers  and  artizans  with  their  families,  but 


68  IN  THE  TOILS. 

mingled  with  these  were  many  whose  appearance  denoted 
culture  and  refinement.  Among  the  latter,  Esther  noticed 
particularly  a  lady  whose  delicate  beauty  and  graceful  man 
ners  made  her  seem  strangely  out  of  place  in  that  motley 
throng.  The  morning  after  their  arrival  her  husband  brought 
her  to  Wallace's  tent,  with  a  request  that  they  would  per 
mit  her  to  remain  with  them  until  he  could  provide  better 
accomodations  for  her  than  the  emigrant  camp  afforded.  Es 
ther  hospitably  assured  him  that  it  would  give  them  pleasure 
to  have  her  stay,  and  Mr.  Wallace  accompanied  the  stranger 
to  town.  Left  alone  with  her  guest,  Mrs.  Wallace,  in  order 
to  avoid  more  dangerous  topics,  led  the  conversation  to 
England  and  the  journey  she  had  taken.  The  lady  thought 
that  in  the  country  to  which  they  were  going  there  would 
be  no  room  for  regrets  at  having  left  England,  or  any  other 
land  no  matter  how  fair.  She  had  only  been  married  six 
months,  and  her  parents  thought  it  hard  to  give  her  up  so 
soon,  but  her  husband's  home  was  in  Utah,  and  besides  her 
own  heart  was  set  on  gathering  with  the  Saints,  Her  hus 
band,  Elder  Claude  Sperry,  had  brought  over  most  of  the 
present  company.  He  was  young,  the  wife  added  with  par 
donable  pride,  but  his  converts  were  already  numbered  by 
hundreds.  Among  them  were  her  sister,  and  a  very  dear 
friend  of  hers,  both  of  whom  had  accompanied  her  and 
Claude  on  their  journey  to  Zion. 

"  Only  think,  Mrs.  Wallace."  continued  the  young  enthu 
siast,  Avith  kindling  eyes,  "  what  a  blessed  privilege  it  will 
be  for  us  who  love  each  other  so  dearly  to  witness  together 
the  coming  of  our  Lord.  I  have  but  one  grief,  and  that  is 
that  my  aged  parents  may  miss  the  sight,  but  I  will  spare  no 
efforts  to  bring  them  to  Zion  before  the  way  is  closed  up. 
Oh  !  if  the  world  that  lieth  in  wickedness  could  only  see  the 
truth,  the  plains  that  lie  beyond  us  would  be  covered  this 


IN  THE  TOILS.  69 

summer  with  the  multitudes  hastening  to  the  valleys  of  the 
mountains." 

"  Poor  child,"  thought  Esther,  "  what  a  rude  shock  your 
beautiful  faith  is  destined  to  receive  when  you  reach  those 
valleys;"  but  she  forbore  to  express  her  own  views,  and  de 
voted  herself  to  making  the  day  pass  pleasantly  for  her 
guest. 

Towards  evening  Elder  Sperry  called  for  his  wife  accom 
panied  by  her  sister  and  the  friend  of  whom  she  had  spoken. 
Both  the  girls  presented  a  fine  type  of  English  beauty,  and 
possessed  in  perfection  the  fresh  color  and  rounded  outlines 
so  often  lacking  among  their  American  cousins.  They  were 
in  high  spirits  and  seemed  far  more  eager  to  relate  the  am 
using  adventures  they  had  met  with  during  the  day,  than  to 
discourse  of  the  glories  of  Zion. 

Esther  could  not  think  that  these  gay,  thoughtless  girls 
were  influenced  by  religious  enthusiasm  to  undertake  a  pil 
grimage  to  Utah,  and  before  they  left  she  surmised  that  one 
of  them  at  least  was  more  interested  in  the  missionary  who 
had  "converted  "  her  than  in  anything  else.  While  marking 
the  coquetries  which  this  young  lady  directed  towards  Bro 
ther  Sperry,  she  stole  a  glance  at  the  fair,  sweet  face  of  the 
young  wife,  and  saw  there  an  expression  of  pained  surprise  ; 
a  look  as  though  a  light  had  dawned  to  which  she  would 
gladly  shut  her  eyes.  It  was  an  evident  relief  to  her  when 
her  husband  proposed  starting  for  their  camp,  and  as  she 
took  his  offered  arm  she  clung  to  him  with  a  manner  that 
seemed  to  imply  she  felt  the  need  of  guarding  her  treasure. 


PART  I.— CHAPTER  v. 

ACROSS   THE   PLAINS — "THIS    NEW     RELIGION   IS   NOT    GOOD 
TO   DIE   BY  " — "  CANAAN  " — A    MORMON   BISHOP. 

Two  days  after  this  the  Mormon  camp  broke  up,  and  the 
long  march  across  the  plains  began.  The  people  were  di 
vided  into  companies  of  hundreds,  each  company  in  charge 
of  a  captain. 

The  missionaries  seemed  to  have  made  the  best  arrange 
ments  in  their  power  for  the  comfort  and  safety  of  their 
converts.  Brother  Daniels,  in  particular,  exerted  himself 
night  and  day  to  make  suitable  provisions  for  their  wants, 
but  the  means  at  his  command  were  small,  and  it  was  plain 
that  the  poor  people  must  surfer  greatly  before  their  dreary 
journey  was  ended. 

In  answer  to  a  question  asked  by  Wallace,  Daniels  said  : 

"  All  who  are  unable  to  pay  their  own  way  to  Utah,  are 
brought  over  by  the  church.  We  have  what  is  termed  a 
Perpetual  Emigration  Fund  for  this  purpose,  and  it  ought 
to  be  sufficient  to  provide  better  accommodations  for  all, 
and  to  supply  a  few  comforts  for  delicate  women  and  little 
children.  The  Saints  both  at  home  and  abroad  are  taxed 
heavily  to  keep  up  this  fund,  and  in  Utah  it  is  augmented 
by  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  unclaimed  property  of  every 
description.  In  addition  to  this,  all  persons  whose  emigra 
tion  expenses  have  been  defrayed  by  the  church  are  expect 
ed  to  pay  back  the  same  with  interest  as  soon  as  pos 
sible.  Still  there  never  seems  to  be  money  enough  on 


IN  THE  TOILS.  71 

hand  to  supply  the  people  with  the  commonest  necessaries, 
and  there  is  much  suffering  among  them  on  the  way  every 
year,  and  much  sickness  and  death  that  might  be  prevented. 
It  don't  become  me  to  find  iault  with  those  who  are  called 
to  administer  the  affairs  of  the  church,  but  it  does  seem 
that  there  must  be  mismanagement  somewhere." 

Before  they  were  two  weeks  on  the  road,  Brother  Daniels' 
statements  regarding  the  distress  among  the  emigrants  were 
abundantly  verified.  The  wagons  provided  were  only  suffi 
cient  in  number  to  carry  the  stores  and  baggage,  both  of 
which  were  scanty  enough ;  so  most  of  the  people  were 
compelled  to  walk  the  whole  dreary  way.  There  were  rapid 
streams  to  ford,  rough  mountain  passes  to  climb,  and  the 
fearful  alkali  desert  to  cross,  before  reaching  Zion,  but  no 
matter  how  toilsome  the  journey,  they  must  depend  on  their 
own  unaided  strength  to  accomplish  it.  Only  the  aged  and 
feeble  women,  and  the  very  young  children  were  allowed  to 
ride  at  all,  and  numbers  of  these  had  to  take  turns  in  walk 
ing  a  part  of  each  day. 

The  hardships  of  the  journey,  and  poor  and  insufficient 
food,  told  upon  the  health  and  strength  of  many,  and  on 
the  fifteenth  day  out  they  halted  to  make  a  grave  for  one  of 
their  number ;  an  old  man  who  had  left  a  comfortable  home, 
and  forsaken  wife  and  children  that  he  might  see  Zion  be 
fore  he  died. 

He  was  one  of  the  English  company  who  had  been  brought 
over  by  Elder  Sperry,  but  that  devoted  missionary  was  not 
to  be  found  when  the  dying  man  asked  for  him. 

He  had  made  the  journey  thus  far  on  horseback,  in  the 
capacity  of  escort  to  the  young  ladies  already  mentioned, 
and  on  this  particular  day  he  galloped  on  ahead  in  the 
morning  with  his  fair  charges,  and  had  been  some  hours  out 
of  sight  of  the  carriage  in  which  his  wife  travelled,  and  miles 


72  IN  THE  TOILS. 

in  advance  of  the  lumbering,   jolting   wagon  in   which  the 
poor  old  man  lay  struggling  with  death. 

Wallace's  carriage  overtook  this  portion  of  the  train  when 
the  sufferer  was  almost  at  the  last  gasp.  To  Esther  there 
was  something  terribly  inhuman  in  the  spectacle  that  met 
her  eyes,  and  with  all  the  eloquence  she  could  command 
she  begged  that  the  wagons  might  be  stopped,  at  least  long 
enough  to  allow  the  poor  creature  to  die  quietly.  The 
driver  answered  surlily  that  he  should  have  hard  work  now 
to  reach  their  camping  ground  before  dark,  and  applied  the 
whip  to  his  tired  mules  to  urge  them  to  greater  speed,  but 
at  this  moment  Brother  Daniels  rode  up,  and  seeing  how 
matters  stood  he  ordered  the  fellow  to  halt  at  once. 

He  obeyed,  though  with  a  bad  grace,  and  Wallace  brought 
his  carriage  as  near  as  possible,  intending  to  take  the  sick  man 
into  it  if  he  could  bear  moving.  Brother  Daniels,  however, 
thought  it  would  be  better  not  to  disturb  him  by  making  the 
attempt,  as  in  all  probability  he  could  not  live  more  than 
an  hour. 

The  old  man,  as  they  gathered  around  him,  made  an  ef 
fort  to  speak  but  failed.  His  dim  eyes  wandered  from  one 
kindly  face  to  another  with  a  look  of  pitiful  entreaty,  but  he 
strove  in  vain  to  articulate  a  single  word.  Esther  poured  a 
few  drops  of  brandy  into  a  little  water,  and  her  husband 
raised  his  head  and  held  it  to  his  lips.  He  swallowed  the 
draught  and  seemed  to  revive  a  little. 

"  Is  there  anything  we  can  do  for  you  ?  "  Esther  asked, 
bending  to  catch  the  answer.  It  came,  faintly  spoken,  and 
with  long  intervals  between  the  words. 

"  This  new  religion  is  not  good  to  die  by.  Will  not 
somebody  tell  me  about '  whosoever  believeth  on  Him?'" 

Slowly  and  reverently  Esther  repeated  : 

"  God  so  loved  the  world  that  He  gave  His  only  begotten 


IN  THE  TOILS.  73 

Son,  that  whosoever  believcth  on  Him  should  not  perish  but 
have  everlasting  life." 

"  Whosoever  believeth  on  Him,"  the  dying  man  said  again. 
"  If  I  had  only  remembered  that  I  should  be  at  home  now. 
I  could  have  believed  on  Him  there.  Oh  !  my  poor  wife." 

A  momentary  convulsion  passed  over  him,  then  he  said 
more  feebly,  "  Pray,"  and  with  all  her  heart  Esther  did  pray 
for  the  soul  groping  in  the  dark,  seeking  something  better 
than  this  faith  that  "  was  not  good  to  die  by." 

A  gray  pallor  settled  upon  the  pinched  features  as  the 
last  earnest  petition  was  uttered.  The  labored  breathing 
grew  fainter,  and  without  a  struggle  the  spirit  passed  away, 
let  us  hope  to  Him  who  has  promised  rest  to  all  the  weary 
and  heavy-laden. 

The  sun  was  now  setting,  and  the  few  who  had  lingered 
beside  the  dying  man  found  themselves  left  far  behind  their 
companions.  It  would  not  be  safe,  they  knew,  for  them  to 
be  overtaken  by  night  there  alone,  so  by  Brother  Daniels' 
direction  a  shallow  grave  was  hastily  dug,  and  the  body 
lowered  into  it. 

No  prayer  was  offered,  no  burial  service  read,  and  Esther 
thought  with  a  shudder  as  they  turned  away  from  the  spot, 
that  it  might  be  her  fate,  or  the  fate  of  those  she  loved,  to 
be  buried  in  the  same  way  before  the  journey  ended. 

"  Let  us  get  away  from  here,"  said  Wallace,  "  This  is  too 
horrible." 

He  drove  very  fast,  and  in  moody  silence  until  they  reached 
the  encampment. 

Winnie,  who  had  never  been  in  the  presence  of  death  be 
fore,  except  on  that  dimly-remembered  day  when  her  baby 
brother  slept  and  would  not  wake,  clung  trembling  to  her 
mother.  Atmt  Eunice,  after  the  single  fervent  ejaculation: 
"  De  Lord  hab  marcy  on  sech  misable  critters,"  became  si 
lent  as  the  rest,  but  in  her  heart  she  vowed  that  she  would 


74  IN  THE  TOILS. 

bury  her  dear  master  and  mistress  like  Christians,  with  her 
own  hands,  should  they  die  by  the  way. 

That  night  while  their  supper  was  cooking  by  the  camp- 
fire,  word  was  brought  to  Esther  that  Mrs.  Sperry  wished  to 
see  her. 

She  found  her  lying  in  her  carriage,  supported  by  pillows, 
and  looking  sadly  changed  since  the  day  they  spent  together 
at  Florence. 

She  was  deadly  pale,  as  could  be  seen  even  by  the  dim  light 
of  the  lamp  that  swung  above  her.  There  were  dark  circles 
under  her  eyes,  and  a  look  of  hopeless  suffering  on  the  fair 
young  face,  that  touched  Esther  to  the  heart. 

"Sit  near  me,"  she  said,  "and  draw  the  curtains  close.  I 
want  to  talk  without  being  overheard." 

When  her  request  had  been  complied  with,  she  went  on: 

"  You  are  not  a  Mormon,  Mrs.  Wallace  ?  " 

"  No,  my  husband  has  embraced  that  faith,  but  I  never 
have,  and  never  will." 

"Thank  God  for  that.  You  at  least  will  pity  me  then. 
Oh,  Mrs.  Wallace !  I  have  believed  this  new  gospel  with 
all  my  heart.  I  thought  that  the  men  who  came  to  preach 
it  were  inspired  of  God,  and  my  Claude,  my  husband — " 

She  stopped  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

When  she  looked  up  again,  there  was  a  fierce  light  in  her 
eyes,  and  a  bright  spot  burned  in  either  cheek. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  cried,  "  he  is  my  husband  no  longer. 
This  accursed  religion,  as  I  have  learned  too  late,  puts  a- 
sunder  what  God  hath  joined  together.  After  we  had  left 
Florence,  and  he  knew,  and  they  all  knew  that  I  could  not 
help  myself,  Claude  began  to  spend  his  whole  time  with 
Clara  and  my  sister,  neglecting  me  for  days  together,  and 
when  I  spoke  to  him  about  it,  he  said,  '  Oh,  how  can  I  ever 
tell  you  ? '  He  said  I  must  not  expect  all  his  time  and  at 
tention,  for  he  loved  Clara  and  Julia  equally  with  me,  and 


IN  THE  TOILS.  75 

as  soon  as  we  reached  Salt  Lake  he  expected  to  marry  them 
both.  I  was  struck  dumb  at  first ;  then,  as  soon  as  I  could 
speak,  I  poured  out  a  torrent  of  reproaches  for  his  perfidy 
and  cruelty.  He  let  me  talk  till  I  was  tired  out,  then  told 
me  very  coolly  that  if  I  had  nothing  more  pleasant  to  say  to 
him  when  he  came  to  see  me,  he  would  take  good  care  to 
keep  away  from  me  in  future.  He  said  that  when  we 
were  once  settled  in  Salt  Lake,  I  would  learn  better  than  to 
make  such  an  ado  about  his  taking  other  wives ;  that  he  not 
only  meant  to  marry  Clara  and  Tulia>  but  ne  would  have  as 
many  more  women  as  he  liked  ;  that  the  Latter-day  Gospel 
commanded  a  woman  to  giv*e  other  wives  to  her  husband, 
and  if  she  refused,  he  was  to  take  them  without  her  consent, 
and  she  would  be  destroyed  for  her  disobedience,  and  finally 
he  said  I  was  a  poor  weak  fool,  and  he  could  have  married 
Julia  instead  of  me  in  the  first  place,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  money  my  aunt  left  me. 

"  I  don't  think  he  meant  to  tell  me  this,  but  "he  got  so  angry 
at  the  last  that  he  did  not  care  what  he  said,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  it  was  the  truth.  You  love  your  husband,  Mrs.  Wal 
lace,  and  can  form  some  faint  idea  of  what  I  suffered  when 
all  my  faith  and  hope,  my  happiness,  my  whole  life,  received 
this  crushing  blow.  I  did  not  simply  love  Claude,  I  wor 
shipped  him.  He  was  more  to  me  than  God,  or  my  own 
soul,  but  I  am  bitterly  punished  for  my  sinful  idolatry. 

"  Then  the  religion  which  had  come  to  me  as  a  direct  reve 
lation  from  Heaven  ;  was  that  a  lie  too  ?  I  hoped  at  first 
that  Claude  had  not  spoken  truly,  when  he  said  his  wicked 
ness  was  sanctioned  by  the  new  gospel,  and  that  same  day 
I  found  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  Brother  Daniels  about 
it.  My  talk  with  him  brought  me  small  comfort.  He  owned 
that  he  had  three  wives  in  Salt  Lake,  and  was  about  to  take 
a  fourth.  He  was  very  kind  and  true  to  set  the  matter  be 
fore  me  in  a  different  light  from  that  in  which  Claude  had 


76  IN  THE  TOILS. 

presented  it.  He  said  it  was  a  heavy  cross  for  men  and 
women  alike,  it  must  be  borne,  in  order  that  we  might 
be  purified  here  and  saved  in  eternity. 

"  He  talked  for  more  than  an  hour  in  the  same  strain,  as 
though  any  amount  of  sophistry  could  make  such  a  black 
crime  appear  white  to  a  woman  in  her  senses,  and  above  all 
a  wife.  I  have  not  exchanged  a  word  with  him  since,  except 
to  answer  some  commonplace  inquiries,  nor  have  I  spoken 
to  Claude. 

'*  Indeed,  I  have  scarcely  seen  him.  He  makes  good  his 
threat  to  keep  out  of  my  way,  and  is  far  too  deeply  absorbed 
in  his  courtship  to  bestow  a  thought  on  me." 

"  Then  you  are  quite  alone  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  but  for  Sarah,  the  servant  I  brought  with 
me  from  England.  She  has  lived  in  our  family  a  number  of 
years,  and  is  warmly  attached  to  me,  and  she  regards  this 
abominable  doctrine  of  celestial  marriage  just  as  I  do." 

"  And  your  sister  ;  has  she  deserted  you  too  ?  " 

"  She  comes  sometimes  to  ask  if  there  is  anything  she  can 
do  for  me,  but  she  has  enough  conscience  left  to  make  her  feel 
that  she  has  wronged  me  beyond  reparation,  and  she  keeps 
away  as  much  as  possible.  Poor  Julia!  She  was  such  a 
good  girl  once,  and  loved  me,  I  am  sure,  and  1  can't  blame 
her  altogether.  I  know  well  enough  the  extent  of  Claude's 
influence  over  her,  and  the  force,  that  his  specious  reasoning 
has  with  her.  I  pity  her  too,  for  he  will  make  her  suffer  some 
day,  though  not  as  I  am  suffering  now." 

Here  she  paused  and  sank  back  on  her  pillow  panting  for 
breath. 

Esther  begged  her  not  to  attempt  to  talk  any  more,  and 
after  doing  what  she  could  for  her  bodily  comfort,  left  her 
with  her  servant.  She  did  indeed  attempt  to  speak  a 
few  consoling  words  to  the  betrayed  and  deserted  wife, 
to  remind  her  that  there  was  a  love  which  endured  when 


IN  THE    TOILS.  77 

every  earthly  love  failed.  But  the  cruel  wrong  she  had  suf 
fered  was  inflicted  in  the  name  of  the  God  in  whom  she 
trusted,  and  the  very  foundations  of  her  faith  were  shat 
tered. 

If  the  religion  in  which  she  had  believed  with  her  whole 
hean  was  a  lie,  could  anything  be  true  ?  And  dark  and  des 
pairing  she  turned  her  face  away  from  the  friend  who  would 
have  comforted  her,  saying,  "  If  there  is  a  God,  I  ask  only 
one  thing  of  Him  and  that  is  death." 

Inexpressibly  saddened  by  what  she  had  seen  and  heard, 
Esther  returned  to  her  husband  and  child.  She  did  not 
speak  of  what  had  taken  place,  for  besides  the  feeling  that 
any  allusion  to  the  matter  would  be  the  betrayal  of  a  sacred 
confidence,  there  was  the  thought,  too  dreadful  to  be  en 
tertained,  that  possibly  the  same  fate  might  be  awaiting 
her. 

She  tried  with  all  her  strength  to  put  this  fear  from  her, 
taking  refuge  in  the  reflection  that  a  pure  and  upright  man 
like  her  husband  could  not  be  judged  by  the  same  standard 
as  this  Claude  Sperry,  who,  by  his  own  admission  was  a 
wretch  utterly  without  truth  or  honor.  Still  in  spite  of  all 
her  efforts,  the  spectre,  conjured  up  by  the  revelations  of 
the  past  few  weeks,  continued  to  haunt  her,  and  all  that 
night  while  her  husband  slept  as  calmly  as  a  child  beside 
her,  she  strove  in  vain  to  banish  the  foreboding  that  a  gulf 
deeper  and  wider  than  the  grave  would  soon  separate  him 
from  her. 

The  next  day's  journey  was  marked  by  another  revelation 
of  the  saintly  character  of  some  of  the  returning  mibsiona- 
ries.  Brother  Daniels,  who  on  the  way  was  often  the  travel 
ing  companion  of  the  Wallaces,  and  who,  barring  his  poly 
gamous  practices,  was  really  esteemed  by  both  of  them,  was 
riding  beside  their  carriage,  when  they  passed  a  covered 
ambulance,  drawn  by  a  very  fine  span  of  mules.  There  were 


78  IN  THE  TOILS. 

two  men  on  the  front  seat,  who  from  their  resemblance  to 
each  other,  might  have  been  father  and  son,  and  a  more  un 
prepossessing  pair  Esther  thought  she  had  seldom  seen. 

The  eldest  of  the  two  was  considerably  past  the  prime  of 
life.  His  iron-gray  hair  hung  like  mane  on  his  shoulders, 
his  bushy  eyebrows  almost  concealed  a  pair  of  small  twin 
kling  black  eyes,  his  face  was  thin  and  sallow,  and  every 
lineament  expressed  craft  and  cruelty.  His  long,  lean  hands 
made  one  think  of  vultures'  claws,  and  seemed  ready  to 
grasp  anything  within  reach. 

His  companion  was  almost  his  exact  counterpart,  the  only 
noticeable  difference  being  that  the  hair  of  the  younger  man 
was  of  inky  blackness,  while  a  mustache  of  the  same  hue  or 
namented  his  otherwise  closely  shaven  face. 

The  side  curtains  of  the  ambulance  were  rolled  up,  dis 
closing  a  mattrass  in  the  rear  of  the  seat,  on  which  lay  a  very 
old  and  decrepit  woman.  A  young  girl,  apparently  little 
more  than  a  child,  sat  beside  her.  As  the  carriage  passed,  the 
girl  turned  her  face  toward  them.  It  was  a  beautiful  face, 
framed  in  heavy  masses  of  golden  hair,  but  pale  and  sad,  and 
the  large  blue  eyes  had  in  them  such  a  look  of  mournful  ap 
peal  that  Esther  felt  almost  constrained  to  stop  and  ask  if 
she  could  help  her ;  but  the  carriage  rolled  on,  and  the  am 
bulance  with  its  occupants  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

"  If  I  should  tell  you  the  history  of  those  people,  Mrs. 
Wallace,"  said  Brother  Daniels,  "  I  fear  you  would  have 
less  faith  than  ever  in  our  religion.  I  confess  that  their 
story,  as  I  have  learned  it,  is  one  of  those  things  which 
shake  my  confidence,  not  only  in  human  nature  but  in  the 
power  of  the  Gospel  to  change  wolves  into  lambs.  The 
men  we  have  just  passed  are,  as  you  may  have  surmised, 
father  and  son.  The  father  is  Elder  Carman,  a  missionary 
just  returned  from  England.  The  son  is  the  husband  of 
the  young  woman  you  saw. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  79 

"  Her  husband  "  interrupted  Esther  in  amazement,  "  Why 
she  cannot  be  more  than  fourteen  years  old." 

"  I  don't  suppose  she  is,  but  she  is  a  wife  nevertheless, 
and  has  been  for  some  months.  That  bed-ridden  old  wo 
man  is  her  grandmother.  She  left  England  with  her  hus 
band  and  this  young  girl,  intending  to  make  the  journey  to 
Zion  by  easy  stages.  The  old  man,  Brother  Leonard,  was 
rich;  one  of  the  wealthiest  converts,  in  fact,  that  we  have 
made  lately.  When  he  decided  to  emigrate  to  Utah,  he 
converted  all  his  property  into  money,  which  he  took  with 
him.  The  party  traveled  under  the  escort  of  Carman, 
though  why  they  should  have  chosen  such  a  man  passes  my 
comprehension;  but  the  Elder  is  wise  as  a  serpent,  if  not  as 
harmless  as  a  dove,  and  doubtless  he  made  them  believe 
that  the  Lord  has  commissioned  him  specially  to  take  care 
of  them.  On  the  way  out,  it  is  said,  some  matters  came  to 
light  which  caused  the  old  man  to  distrust  Carman,  and 
when  they  reached  St.  Louis  he  decided  to  part  company 
with  him,  but  before  he  had  made  arrangements  to  do  so  he 
sickened  and  died  very  suddenly.  Thus  the  poor  paralytic 
old  woman  and  the  little  grand-daughter  Eva  were  left  en 
tirely  in  Carman's  power. 

"  This  may  seem  a  strong  expression,  but  you  must  re- 
memember  that  they  had  come  on  alone  with  him  and  were 
in  a  strange  country — did  not  know  a  soul  in  the  great  city 
where  they  found  themselves.  Add  to  this  the  fact  that  the 
old  woman's  mind  was  shattered  by  her  sickness,  and  that 
Eva  knew  no  more  of  the  ways  of  the  world  than  your  little 
Winnie,  and  you  will  be  better  able  to  understand  what  fol 
lowed. 

"  Carman,  had  been  joined  at  St.  Louis  by  his  son  a  day  or 
two  before  the  old  man's  death,  and  as  soon  as  the  funeral 
was  over  the  Elder  determined  not  to  let  such  an  amount  of 
money  as  Brother  Leonard  died  possessed  of  slip  through 


8o  IN  THE  TOILS. 

his  fingers,  told  Eva  that  she  must  marry  James.  The  poor 
girl,  terrified  and  distressed,  went  to  her  grandmother  for 
help,  but  Carman  had  been  before  her,  and  persuaded  the 
poor,  weak-minded  old  woman  that  her  salvation  depended 
on  the  plan  he  proposed,  and  between  them  they  forced  her 
into  the  marriage.  I  don't  know  how  her  husband  treats 
her,  but  if  her  face  tells  the  truth  her  life  with  him  is  miser 
able  enough.  She  makes  no  complaint,  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  she  never  has  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
any  one,  except  in  the  presence  of  one  or  the  other  of  the 
Carmans. 

"I  travelled  with  them  from  St.  Louis,  and  to  my  knowl 
edge  neither  Eva  nor  her  grandmother  were  ever  left  un 
guarded  for  five  minutes  at  a  time.  The  money  that  Leon 
ard  left  could  not  have  amounted  to  less  than  $150,000, 
and  as  there  is  no  one  to  dispute  Carman's  claim  to  it,  I 
presume  it  is  all  in  his  hands  or  those  of  his  son." 

"  You  say  that  the  girl  and  her  grandmother  are  not  al 
lowed  to  talk  with  any  one;  how  then  did  those  facts  come 
to  your  knowledge  ?  "  Mr.  Wallace  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  was  in  St.  Louis  when  the  Leonards  arrived,  wait 
ing  for  emigrants  who  were  to  go  West  under  my  care. 
Brother  Leonard  met  me  there,  and  for  some  reason  was 
very  communicative  about  his  affairs.  In  one  of  our  talks 
he  intimated  that  he  had  cause  to  be  dissatisfied  with  Car 
man,  and  meant  to  part  company  with  him.  It  was  only 
two  days  after  this  I  was  shocked  by  the  news  of  his  sudden 
death.  When  James  Carman  presented  himself  as  Eva's 
future  husband,  and  she  found  that  her  grandmother 
sanctioned  his  proposals,  she  appealed  tome  in  her  despera 
tion  for  help,  but  what  could  I  do  ?  Her  grandmother  was 
her  legal  guardian,  and  if  she  chose  to  marry  her  to  such  a 
man  I  had  no  power  to  prevent  it. 

"Indeed,  I  had  little  time  to  consider  what  steps  I  should 


IN  THE  TOILS.  81 

take,  for  the  marriage  ceremony  was  performed  that  same 
evening. 

"  I  shall  report  the  case  to  the  President  when  we  reach 
Salt  Lake,  and  he  may  perhaps  take  some  notice  of  it,  but  no 
one  can  tell.  If  the  Carmans  pay  their  tithing  out  of  their 
ill-gotten  gains,  it  will  be  all  right  anyhow,  I  suppose." 

"Why  Brother  Daniels,"  said  Esther,  "  you  surprise  me. 
"  I  did  not  expect  to  hear  you  speak  in  such  a  way  of  your 
Prophet." 

"I  am  not  finding  fault  with  him  particularly,  but  it  seems 
that  in  our  church  as  well  as  in  others,  wealth  often  screens 
its  possessor  from  richly-merited  punishment.  Money  cov 
ers  more  sins  than  charity  the  world  over — at  least  that  has 
been  my  experience." 

If  our  readers  think  the  picture  thus  far  presented  too 
sombre,  and  lacking  that  skillful  combination  of  light  and 
shade  which  makes  the  work  of  the  genuine  artist,  we  beg 
leave  to  remind  them  that  the  fault  does  not  lie  with  the 
narrator,  who  is  not  inventing  incidents,  but  relating  actual 
occurrences.  Still  there  are  redeeming  features  even  in  the 
practical  workings  of  the  system  whose  votaries  we  are  fol 
lowing  in  their  weary  march  across  the  plains. 

Uncomplaining  patience  under  suffering,  self-denial  for 
the  sake  of  any  faith,  no  matter  how  mistaken,  and  unhesi 
tating  obedience  to  whatever  is  recognized  as  the  Divine 
will,  must  lift  humanity  into  a  higher  plane,  and  the  history 
of  the  Latter  Day  Saints  furnished  examples  of  self-sacrifice 
and  heroic  devotion  that  might  be  profitably  imitated  by 
the  adherents  of  a  purer  faith. 

Besides,  among  the  people  whose  fortunes  we  are  por 
traying,  there  were  occasional  exhibitions  of  native  noble 
ness  and  uprightness  that  formed  a  refreshing  contrast  to 
the  treachery,  cruelty,  and  rapacity  of  some  of  the  leaders. 

Brother    Daniels,  aside  from  his  mistaken  obedience  to 


Sz  IN  THE  TOILS. 

the  tenets  of  celestial  marriage,  was  a  thoroughly  good  man, 
the  friend  of  the  poor,  the  helper  of  the  weak,  and  the  un 
compromising  enemy  of  fraud  and  oppression.  After  list 
ening  to  his  emphatic  denunciation  of  the  Carmans,  father 
and  son,  Esther  took  occasion  to  inquire  what  had  become 
of  Lucy  Ferris,  of  whom  she  had  seen  very  little  during  the 
journey. 

"  Oh!  "  said  Brother  Daniels,  "  I  thought  you  knew,  or  I 
would  have  told  you  about  her  before.  While  we  were  still 
at  Florence,  she  came  to  me  and  asked  me  to  explain  just 
what  was  meant  by  celestial  marriage,  and  I  told  her  hon 
estly  just  as  I  told  you.  I  never  saw  any  one  appear  so  hor 
rified.  She  turned  so  white  I  thought  she  would  faint,  be 
fore  I  finished  my  explanation,  and  then  began  to  wring  her 
hands  and  wish  she  was  dead.  '  Why,  Lucy,'  said  I,  '  if 
you  cannot  believe  such  marriage  to  be  right  you  need  not 
enter  into  one.  I  will  find  protectors  for  you  on  our  jour 
ney,  and  a  good  home  in  Salt  Lake  after  we  get  there,  and 
you  may  marry  according  to  your  own  views,  or  remain  sin 
gle  just  as  you  please.  I  will  take  care  that  no  one  annoys 
or  persecutes  you  on  the  subject.'  You  should  have  seen 
how  she  brightened  up  at  that,  and  the  very  same  day  I  took 
her  to  Brother  and  Sister  Seagrove,  a  very  worthy  couple 
who  have  no  children  of  their  own." 

"  They  were  greatly  pleased  with  her  and  offered  at  once 
to  take  her  under  their  care,  and  to  make  her  a  daughter  if 
she  was  willing  to  stay  with  them.  She  has  travelled  with 
them  thus  far,  and  I  notice  that  she  now  calls  Mrs.  Sea- 
grove,  '  mother.'  She  has  improved  greatly  in  health  and 
spirits,  and  is  certainly  much  happier  with  him  than  I  could 
have  made  her,  even  if  she  could  have  accepted  plurality." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Esther,  "  for  I  have 
felt  anxious  about  her  ever  since  we  left  Florence.  She 
seemed  to  me  so  completely  under  the  influence  of  the 


IN  THE  TOILS.  83 

teachings  to  which  she  had  listened,  that  although  her  wo 
man's  nature  revolted  from  polygamy,  I  feared  she  might 
yet  plunge  into  life-long  misery  through  a  false  idea  ot 
duty." 

Brother  Daniels  winced  a  little  at  this,  but  he  responded 
bravely : 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Wallace,  to  tell  the  whole  truth,  I  must  own 
I  am  glad  myself  that  the  affair  has  taken  such  a  turn.  I 
know  Lucy  would  have  been  miserable  as  a  plural  wife,  and 
I  don't  want  to  make  any  more  women  wretched  for  life." 

After  this  very  frank  avowal,  the  Elder,  perhaps  fearing 
that  Mrs.  Wallace  would  improve  the  opportunity  by  ask 
ing  inconvenient  questions,  took  leave  of  his  companions, 
saying  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  some  parties  ahead. 

Wallace  looked  after  him  a  few  moments  in  silence,  then 
turning  to  his  wife  said  : 

"  That  man  already  sees  his  life  to  be  a  mistake,  and  he 
is  surely  to  be  pitied.  He  has  taken  plural  wives  for  con 
science  sake,  and  I  think  he  will  be  convinced  before  long 
that  he  must  put  them  away  for  conscience  sake,  but  I  am 
afraid  he  will  find  the  last  step  harder  to  take  than  the  first." 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  then,"  replied  Esther,  "  that  his  breth 
ren  who  are  equally  conscientious  will  profit  by  his  experi 
ence,  and  avoid  taking  steps  so  difficult  to  retrace." 

A  faint  flush  rose  to  Wallace's  cheek,  indicating  that  he 
made  a  personal  application  of  this  remark,  but  he  said 
nothing,  and  Esther  continued: 

"  I  am  really  thankful  for  our  acquaintance  with  Brother 
Daniels,  for  in  spite  of  the  serious  mistakes  he  has  made, 
there  is  enough  real  goodness  about  him  to  restore  my  faith 
in  human  nature ;  a  faith  that  has  been  sadly  shaken  by  the 
experience  of  the  past  few  days." 

"  There  are  nettles  everywhere,  but  smooth,  green  grasses 
are  more  common  still,"  quoted  Wallace,  half  to  himself. 


84  IN  THE  TOILS. 

The  next  day  and  many  days  following  were  repetitions 
of  each  other.  The  emigrant  train  moved  slowly  forward 
over  the  immense  expanse  of  rolling  prairie  east  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  seldom  making  more  than  fifteen  miles  a 
day.  Those  who  had  light  carriages  and  good  teams,  and 
could  have  travelled  faster,  were  forced  to  keep  back  with 
the  main  body  for  protection  from  the  Indians,  who  were  in 
sight  along  the  whole  route.  When  they  camped  for  the 
night  a  strong  guard  was  always  set,  and  during  the  day 
armed  outriders  were  continually  on  the  lookout  for  the 
savages.  But  there  were  other  enemies  not  to  be  kept  out 
by  an  armed  guard. 

Bad  water  and  poor  food  caused  much  sickness  among 
them,  and  death  had  thinned  their  ranks  perceptibly  before 
the  journey  was  half  accomplished.  Again  and  again  a  por 
tion  of  the  train  halted  for  an  hour  to  make  a  grave  for  some 
one  cf  their  number.  Many  of  those  who  sickened  and  died 
were  children,  and  the  anguish  of  the  mothers  when  the 
bodies  of  their  little  ones  were  thrown  carelessly  into  the 
shallow  trenches  dug  for  the  dead,  was  most  pitiable.  One 
poor  mother  held  her  dead  baby  in  her  arms,  hidden  by  her 
shawl  all  day  long  until  the  train  camped  at  night,  making 
no  sign  lest  it  should  be  taken  from  her. 

But  it  was  not  until  they  passed  the  Rocky  Mountains 
and  entered  the  alkali  desert  that  the  climax  of  their  suffer 
ing  was  reached.  Water,  which  had  been  scarce  enough  be 
fore,  was  now  almost  unfit  to  drink  when  found,  and  they 
were  obliged  to  make  frequent  forced  marches  to  reach  the 
bitter,  brackish  streams  that  threaded  the  plains  at  long  in 
tervals.  Then  the  food  provided  for  the  emigrants  began 
to  fail,  so  that  it  was  thought  necessary  to  put  them  on  half 
rations.  Every  exertion  was  now  made  to  increase  the 
speed  of  the  train,  and  the  sick  and  dying  were  plainly  looked 
upon  as  burdens  to  be  got  rid  of  as  soon  as  possible.  When 


IN  THE  TOILS.  85 

they  had  been  about  eight  days  on  the  desert,  an  old  man 
named  Hall,  who  was  driving  one  of  the  teams,  fell  from  his 
seat  and  the  whole  of  the  heavily-loaded  wagon  passed  over 
him,  breaking  one  of  his  legs. 

It  was  near  night  when  the  accident  happened,  and  noth 
ing  was  done  for  him  until  they  reached  their  camping- 
ground,  when  the  broken  limb  was  set  by  one  of  the  party 
who  had  a  little  experience  in  surgery. 

The  captain  of  the  company  grumbled  audibly  at  the 
trouble  the  old  man  was  likely  to  be,  and  the  driver  of  the 
wagon  in  which  he  was  placed  said  with  an  oath  that  he 
might  better  have  broken  his  neck,  but  happily  for  himself 
he  was  accompanied  by  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  was  not 
allowed  to  lie  uncared  for  as  was  the  case  with  many  other 
sufferers. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  after  the  accident,  his 
wife  went  to  one  of  the  brethren  who  had  a  case  of  medi 
cines,  to  ask  for  a  composing  draught  for  her  husband,  who 
was  in  considerable  pain. 

"  Don't  you  be  troubled,  sister,"  he  said,  "  I'll  fix  him  up 
something  that  will  make  him  sleep  sound  enough." 

AVhen  the  mixture  was  prepared,  he  carried  it  to  the  wag 
on  himself  and  gave  it  to  Hall. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  the  Wallaces,  who  were  camped 
near  by,  were  awakened  by  the  shrieks  of  the  wife  and 
daughter. 

Wallace  hurried  to  the  spot  and  found  the  old  man  dead, 
his  face  distorted;  his  hands  clenched,  and  his  beard  covered 
with  foam. 

"  Look  !  "  cried  the  daughter,  "  they  have  killed  my  fa 
ther.  The  medicine  they  gave  him  made  him  wild,  and  he 
died  in  convulsions." 

''  Hush  girl,"  said  the  harsh  voice  of  the  captain,  who  was 
standing  by,  "  it  will  be  worse  for  you  if  you  don't  learn  to 


86  IN  THE  TOILS. 

hold  your  tongue."  Then  turning  to  some  of  the  men  he 
ordered  them  to  dig  a  grave  at  once. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  take  him  from  me  now,"  said  the 
poor  wife,  "  you  surely  will  not  be  so  cruel." 

"Cruel,"  he  sneered,  "you  want  us  to  stay  here,  I  sup 
pose  until  we  starve  to  death.  Let  me  tell  you  that  I  com 
mand  this  company,  and  I'm  not  going  to  risk  all  our  lives 
for  an  old  woman's  whim.  Men,  do  as  you  are  told,  and  be 
quick  about  it." 

Wallace  here  ventured  to  interpose  a  request  for  a  little 
delay,  but  though  the  captain  answered  him  more  civilly,  he 
was  not  to  be  persuaded. 

"  I  don't  think  I'm  anyway  inhuman,"  he  said,  "  but  you 
see  it  ain't  possible  to  stay  the  train  on  account  of  people's 
feelings.  Here  we  are  on  the  very  worst  part  of  the  route, 
provisions  running  short,  and  no  water  for  twenty  miles 
ahead.  We  must  be  ready  to  start  in  the  morning  with  the 
first  streak  of  light,  and  it  is  better  to  bury  the  old  man  now 
than  to  wait  half  the  night.  It  wouldn't  do  his  friends  any 
real  good  to  wait,  and  would  only  keep  tired  men  from  their 
rest." 

An  hour  later  it  was  all  over,  and  the  suppressed  sobs  of 
two  broked-  hearted  women  were  the  only  reminders  of  the 
tragedy  that  had  been  enacted  since  the  sun  went  down. 

To  them  alone  the  whole  world  had  grown  dark.  Their 
fellow-travellers  were  absorbed  in  their  own  cares,  or  bowed 
down  under  the  weight  of  their  own  sufferings,  and  little 
disposed  to  give  attention  to  anything  which  did  not  immed 
iately  concern  themselves.  Still,  there  were  a  few  who  rem 
embered  the  desolate  widow,  and  during  the  remainder  of 
the  journey  came  to  her  sometimes  with  expressions  of  sym 
pathy  or  offers  of  help. 

There  were  whispers  too   that  there  was  something  very 


IN  THE  TOILS.  £7 

mysterious  about  Brother  Hall's  sudden  death,  but  none 
dare  speak  their  suspicions  aloud,  for  after  the  Captain's 
stern  warning  to  the  dead  man's  daughter,  the  people  un 
derstood  well  enough  that  they  too  were  to  hold  their 
tongues,  or  it  would  be  worse  for  them,  and  after  all,  what 
was  one  man's  death  that  they  should  dwell  upon  it?  Their 
dead  were  already  numbered  by  scores,  and  the  mountains 
that  surrounded  "  Zion  "  were  not  yet  in  sight. 

True,  it  may  have  seemed  to  them  sometimes,  as  one 
after  the  other  dropped  by  the  way,  that  "  Some  one  had 
blundered," 

But  if  so,  it  was  their  part  to  bear  the  consequences  of  the 
blunder  in  silence.  Brother  Daniels'  assertion  that  much 
of  the  yearly  suffering  and  death  among  the  emigrants  might 
be  prevented,  was  borne  out  by  the  fact  that  those  who 
like  the  Wallaces,  had  comfortable  carriages,  and  were 
abundantly  provided  for,  had  thus  far  escaped  serious  sick 
ness,  but  among  this  more  favored  class  there  were  sufferers 
whose  aiiments  were  beyond  the  reach  of  outward  reme 
dies. 

The  young  wife  of  Claude  Sperry  drooped  from  day  to 
day,  until  at  last  she  was  unable  to  lift  her  head  from  her 
pillow.  She  prayed  for  death  as  she  told  Esther,  every  day 
and  hour  of  that  wretched  journey,  but  death  does  not 
always  come  at  once  to  those  who  are  weary  of  life. 

Her  husband  seldom  came  near  her.  He  was  too  much 
absorbed  in  his  love-making  to  have  a  great  deal  of  time  or 
thought  to  bestow  on  his  dying  wife.  Perhaps,  too,  if  con 
science  was  not  entirely  dead,  the  sight  of  the  wreck  he  had 
caused  smote  him  somewhat.  His  wife  did  not  want  out 
ward  comforts,  for  her  own  means  were  ample,  and  abun 
dant  provision  had  been  made  for  the  emergencies  of  the 
journey.  She  had  beside  the  constant  care  of  her  faithful 


88  IN  THE  TOILS. 

servant,  who  waited  on  her  with  an  unselfish   devotion  sel 
dom  surpassed. 

Mrs.  Wallace  too  did  all  in  her  power  for  her,  but  that 
was  little.  She  would  listen  to  all  expressions  of  sympathy 
without  reply,  and  the  kind  friends  who  felt  such  tender 
pity  for  her,  ceased  at  length  to  speak  of  anything  pertain 
ing  to  her  hopeless  sorrow  ;  a  sorrow  beyond  the  reach  of 
any  hand  but  His  "  who  healeth  the  broken  in  heart  and 
bindeth  up  all  their  wounds." 

A  few  more  days  passed,  and  then  the  tired,  travel-worn 
company  were  greeted  by  the  welcome  sight  of  the  moun 
tains  that  girt  the  Promised  Land.  To  those  who  still  re 
tained  the  enthusiastic  faith  with  which  the  journey  was  be 
gun,  the  first  glimpses  of  the  Wasatch  peaks  was  like  a  vis 
ion  of  the  gates  and  walls  of  Paradise,  while  to  all  the  pros 
pect  of  the  near  termination  of  their  toilsome  journey  was 
hailed  with  the  utmost  thankfulness. 

New  life  seemed  infused  into  man  and  beast,  and  the  few 
remaining  miles  were  quickly  travelled.  When  the  last  as 
cent  was  made,  and  the  whole  company  stood  upon  the 
Western  declivity  of  Emigration  Canyon,  the  devout  be 
lievers  in  the  new  Gospel  broke  forth  into  songs  of  praise, 
and  even  those  whose  faith  had  been  sadly  shaken  by  the 
experiences  of  the  journey,  ga2ed  with  delighted  surprise 
upon  the  picture  before  them. 

The  beautiful  Salt  Lake  Valley  lay  at  their  feet,  threaded 
with  sparkling  mountain  streams.  Near  at  hand  were  tilled 
fields  and  laden  orchards;  far  away  .he  Great  Salt  Lake  was 
spread  out  like  a  sheet  of  silver,  under  the  soft  September 
sky,  while  at  the  base  of  the  Western  Mountains  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Jordan — 

Ran  through  the  gold  and  green  of  pasture  lands. 

The  city  itself,  with  its  broad,  shaded  streets  and  white- 
walled  cottages,  lay  to  the  north,  while  other  green  and 


IN  THE  TOILS.  89 

smiling  valleys,  links  in  a  seemingly  endless  chain,  stretched 
away  to  the  south  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

No  wonder  that  the  emigrants,  tired  and  foot-sore,  and 
with  vivid  remembrances  of  the  desert  over  which  they  had 
journeyed,  parched  with  thirst  and  faint  with  hunger,  felt  as 
the  Israelites  did  when  the  wilderness  was  passed  and  they 
entered  the  borders  of  Canaan, 

A  company  of  brethren  from  the  valley  had  been  sent  out 
to  meet  them  a  few  days  before,  and  under  their  escort  they 
reached  the  city  just  at  sun-set. 

Here  those  who  had  friends  waiting  for  them  separated 
from  their  companions,  who  were  directed  to  encamp  for  the 
night  in  a  large  square  set  apart  for  the  purpose  in  the  heart 
of  the  city. 

There  was  one  noticeable  feature  of  their  reception,which 
savored  more  of  the  wicked  world  outside  than  of  Zion 
where  all  were  brethren.  The  poorer  emigrants,  ragged, 
travel-stained  and  woe-begone,  were  left  to  shift  for  them 
selves  as  best  they  could,  while  those  whose  appearance  and 
belongings  indicated  that  they  brought  money  with  them, 
were  plied  with  hospitable  invitations. 

The  Wallaces  were  waited  on  by  a  number  of  prominent 
Saints,  each  ore  of  whom  would  be  delighted  to  have  them 
make  his  house  their  home  for  an  indefinite  period.  They 
finally  concluded  to  go  with  Bishop  Williams,  a  pleasant- 
faced,  courteous  old  gentleman,  whose  snowy  locks  and  flow 
ing  white  beard  covering  his  breast  gave  one  the  impression 
that  a  patriarch  of  antediluvian  times  had  stepped  down  into 
the  nineteenth  century. 

The  good  Bishop's  residence  was  in  the  most  pleasant 
part  of  the  town.  The  house  was  large  and  built,  like  most 
of  those  they  saw,  of  adoba,  or  sun-dried  bricks.  The 
grounds  were  enclosed  by  neat  palings  and  on  one  side  of 
the  house  there  was  a  well-kept  kitchen-garden,  with  a 


90  IN  THE  TOILS. 

thrifty  young  orchard  in  the  rear.  A  buxom,  middle-aged 
woman  appeared  on  the  porch  to  welcome  them,  and  was 
introduced  to  the  party  by  the  Bishop  as  "  My  wife  Ellen." 

"  Miss  Ellen  "  led  the  way  into  a  pleasant  parlor,  where 
an  old  lady  sat  knitting.  She  rose  slowly  and  feebly  as  they 
entered,  and  the  Bishop  presented  his  guests  to  his  wife 
Elizabeth. 

Esther  glanced  involuntarily  at  her  husband.  For  her 
own  part  she  found  the  situation  becoming  embarrassing, 
but  her  confusion  did  not  seem  to  be  shared  by  their  enter 
tainer,  who  opened  a  side  door  and  called  to  some  one  in 
the  next  room. 

A  young  girl  with  a  babe  in  her  arms  presented  herself 
in  answer  to  the  summons,  and  was  made  known  to  the 
new  arrivals  by  the  patriarch  as  "my  wife  Sophia." 

Then  the  whole  party  sat  down  and  the  Bishop,  after 
making  a  few  inquiries  about  their  journey,  launched  into 
an  enthusiastic  description  of  the  glories  of  the  Zion  to 
which  they  had  come. 

The  subject  was  interesting  to  him,  if  not  to  his  auditors, 
and  Esther  was  beginning  to  fear  that  he  would  talk  all 
night,  when  the  old  lady,  who,  as  they  surmised,  was  the 
first  wife,  and  perhaps  mistress  of  the  household  by  virtue 
of  seniority,  checked  him  mildly  and  intimated  that  their 
guests  must  be  very  tired  and  would  want  a  little  time  to 
rest  before  supper. 

The  Bishop  apoligized  for  forgetting  this,  but  added  the 
hope  that  they  had  already  found  rest  and  refreshment  in 
breathing  the  pure  air  of  these  valleys  of  the  mountains. 

Then  "wife  Sophia  "  was  commissioned  to  show  the  Wai 
laces'  to  the  guest  chamber,  while  Aunt  Eunice,  who  all  this 
time  had  remained  at  the  door  with  her  arms  folded,  and  a 
look  of  grim  determination  on  her  face,  was  directed  to  go 


IN   THE  TOILS.  or 

with  "  wife  Ellen,"  but  she  only  shook  her  head  and  moved 
a  step  or  two  backward  saying: 

"  'Scuse  me,  I'se  gwine  to  de  kerridge  to  stay  with  my 
Missis'  things  'till  I'se  wanted,"  and  before  any  one  could 
intercept  her  she  made  a  hasty  retreat  through  the  open 
door  and  took  her  seat  in  the  carriage  which  was  still 
standing  at  the  gate,  though  the  horses  had  been  detached. 

The  Bishop  and  his  family  looked  after  her  in  surprise, 
but  Esther,  glad  that  she  had  got  out  of  the  way  without 
speaking  her  mind  more  fully,  said: 

"  Never  mind  Aunt  Eunice,  she  is  a  faithful  servant,  but 
a  little  peculiar.  Let  her  keep  guard  over  the  bundles 
and  carpet-bags  for  a  while  if  she  wants  to." 

There  was  another  member  of  the  party  who  v.as  quite 
as  apt  to  make  inconvenient  remarks  as  Aunt  Eunice,  and 
as  soon  as  they  were  left  alone  in  their  room  Winnie  ex 
claimed!  "  What  a  dreadful  story-teller  that  old  man  must 
be!  First  he  said  that  fat  woman  was  his  wife,  then  in  the 
house  he  called  the  nice  old  lady  his  wife,  and  afterwards, 
the  girl  with  the  baby"  "Hush  Winnifred,"  said  her 
father  sharply,  "  little  girls  must  not  speak  of  old  people  in 
such  a  way."  Silenced,  but  not  convinced,  Winnie  pro 
ceeded  with  the  task  of  getting  rid  of  her  outer  wrappings 
resolving  meanwhile  that  she  would  ask  mamma  what  it  all 
meant,  as  soon  as  ever  she  got  a  chance. 

During  the  process  of  dressing  for  supper,  Mrs.  Wallace 
found  that  she  needed  some  articles  from  the  carriage  and 
dispatched  her  husband  in  quest  of  them.  He  found  Aunt 
Eunice  sitting  bolt  upright  among  their  posession,  keeping 
a  vigilant  eye  on  them  but  ever  and  anon  glancing  uneasily 
toward  the  house.  When  Wallace  made  his  appearance 
she  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  and  said: 

"You's  come  den  at  last  but  where's  Miss  Esther?" 


Q2  IN    THE    TOILS. 

"Up  in  her  room,  and  she  has  sent  me  for  the  large 
satchel  with  her  dresses  and  Winnie's." 

"You  don't  mean  Massa  Wallace,  dat  you's  gwoine  to 
leave  Miss  Esther  an'  dat  bressed  lamb  in  de  lion's  den  de 
whole  night." 

"  Now,  Aunt  Eunice,"  said  her  master  in  his  most  con- 
cilatory  tone,  "  don't  be  unreasonable.  We  must  stay  some 
where  to-night,  and  this  is  as  good  a  place  as  we  shall  be 
likely  to  find.  Your  mistress  needs  you,  and  you  will  make 
it  very  unpleasant  for  her  if  you  act  so  strangely." 

"  Well,  Massa  Wallace,  if  you's  'termincd  on  temptin' 
de  Lord  in  dis  yer  way,  dere's  nuffin  fur  Aunt  Eunice  to 
do  but  to  stan'  by  dein  as  she's  promised  nebber  to  desart. 
I  tole  Miss  Esther  at  de  fust,  if  she's  called  to  go  to  de 
bottom  ob  de  sea,  I'se  bound  to  go  dere  to,"  and  with  the 
air  of  one  ready  for  martyrdom,  Aunt  Eunice  gathered  up 
her  mistress'  belongings  and  followed  her  master  into  the 
house. 

When  the  Wallaces  were  called  to  supper  they  found  a 
bountiful  repast  spread  out  before  them,  but  only  the  old 
lady  and  Sophia  sat  down  with  them  and  their  host,  while 
"Wife  Ellen"  and  a  young  woman  whom  they  supposed  to 
be  a  servant  waited  on  them. 

After  supper  as  they  rose  to  leave  the  room  a  troop  of 
boys  and  girls  filed  in  and  took  their  places  at  the  table. 

"  You  have  a  fine  family  Brother  Williams,"  Wallace 
ventured  to  remark,  "are  these  all  your  children?" 

"They  are  the  children  of  my  wives,  Ellen  and  Han 
nah,"  indicating  by  a  wave  of  his  hand  the  young  woman 
who  had  served  at  supper.  "  Elizabeth's  children  are  all 
grown  up  and  Sophia  has  none,  except  the  little  one  in  her 
arms." 

The  evening's  conversation    turned  upon  the  doctrines 


IN  THE  TOILS. 


93 


and  practices  of  the  saints,  and  was  sustained  chiefly  by  the 
Bishop  and  Mr.  Wallace. 

Esther  did  not  think  it  wise  under  the  circumstances 
to  volunteer  a  statement  of  her  own  views,  and  the  two 
wives  present  took  no  part  whatever  in  their  Lord's  exposi 
tion  of  the  latter-day  gospel,  seldom  speaking  on  any  sub 
ject  unless  directly  addressed. 

The  younger  woman  occupied  herself  with  her  baby 
while  the  old  lady  knitted  steadily  and  silently,  scarcely 
raising  her  eyes. 

As  she  sat  thus,  Esther's  gaze  was  drawn  almost  irre 
sistibly  to  the  pale,  wrinkled  face,  bent  low  over  the  bright 
knitting  needles. 

What  a  history  hers  must  have  been  ! 

Wedded  in  her  fair,  fresh  girlhood  to  the  man  of  her  choice, 
the  first  years  of  her  married  life  might  have  been  as  cloud 
less  as  those  of  the  beautiful  woman  who  sat  watching 
her.  Then  Esther  pictured  to  herself  the  introduc 
tion  of  the  New  Gospel  into  their  once  happy  home 
the  severing  of  early  ties,  and  the  Western  pilgrim 
age  undertaken  in  obedience  to  the  behests  of.  their 
faith.  The  measureles  anguish  the  wife  must  have  endured 
in  later  years,  when  with  the  sons  and  daughters  she  had 
borne  her  husband  growing  up  around  her,  she  was  com 
pelled  to  yield  her  place  in  his  house  and  heart  to  another, 
was  not  a  matter  for  idle  speculation.  Whatever  the  suffer 
ings  of  the  past  had  been,  the  still  face  told  no  tales.  It 
was  as  immovable  as  the  face  of  the  dead. 

Only  once  throughout  the  evening  did  she  give  the 
slightest  sign  of  emotion,  and  that  was  when  her  husband, 
in  detailing  his  experiences,  said  : 

"  My  elder  sons,  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  have  fallen  away 
from  the  faith  they  were  brought  up  in.  After  they  grew 
to  manhood  they  became  very  restless  under  the  restraint 


94  IN  THE  TOILS. 

the  Gospel  imposes,  and  when  we  came  to  Utah  they  went 
on  to  California.  I  have  cast  them  out  of  my  heart  entirely, 
for  they  who  are  not  for  us  are  against  us,  even  though  they 
may  be  of  our  own  household. 

At  this  cruel  speech  the  aged  mother's  hands  trembled 
violently,  and  her  features  contracted  with  a  spasm  of  pain, 
but  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  then  the  fixed  expression  re 
turned  and  the  knitting  needles  moved  steadily  and  rapidly 
as  before. 

Esther  felt  as  though  she  was  in  some  torture  chamber  of 
the  Inquisition,  a  spectator  of  the  agonies  of  a  silent  victim, 
who  would  neither  confess  nor  recant,  and  it  was  an  inex 
pressible  relief  to  her  when  their  host,  with  a  polite  apology 
for  keeping  them  up  so  late,  lighted  their  bedroom  candles 
himself,  and  wished  them  a  good  nights  rest. 

"Winnie  had  already  been  asleep  for  an  hour  with  her 
head  on  her  mother's  lap,  and  the  whole  party  were  tired 
enough  to  appreciate  the  soft  ample  beds,  that  looked  so  in 
viting  after  the  many  nights  they  had  spent  on  the  narrow 
mattress  in  their  carriage. 

In  spite  of  sharing  to  some  extent  Aunt  Eunice's  feeling 
that  they  were  in  the  lion's  den, Esther  was  so  overcome  by 
weariness  that  she  slept  soundly  until  morning,  never  even 
dreaming  of  the  perils  that  environed  her,  and  when  she 
asked  her  husband,  on  waking,  how  he  had  rested,  he  an 
swered  : 

"  Never  better  in  my  life.  I  shall  have  to  admit  the 
soundness  of  Brother  Williams'  idea  that  there  is  rest  and 
refreshment  in  breathing  the  air  of  this  valley." 

"  I  am  afraid  we  shall  find  the  spiritual  and  moral  atmos 
phere  less  refreshing,"  returned  Esther,  "for  my  own  part 
I  felt  nearly  suffocated  last  evening  in  the  society  of  that 
old  man  with  his  three  or  four  wives." 

"  Speak  lower  dear,"  said  Wallace  with  an  apprehensive 


IN  THE  TOILS.  95 

glance  toward  the  bed  in  which  Winnie  slept,  "  I  own  I  am 
sorry  that  our  first  night  in  Utah  should  have  been  passed  in 
such  a  place,  and  especially  on  that  child's  account ;  she 
sees  and  hears  everything,  but  we  need  not  remain  here 
many  hours.  I  am  determined  to  have  a  house  of  my  own 
before  night  if  there  is  one  to  be  bought  for  money  in  Salt 
Lake. 

True  to  his  purpose,  Wallace  started  out  immediately 
after  breakfast  with  Brother  Williams  as  a  guide,  in  search 
of  a  residence,  though  the  latter  insisted  that  there  was  no 
need  of  such  haste,  as  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to  have 
them  remain  his  guests  as  long  as  they  would. 

Esther,  left  to  herself  in  the  polygamous  household,  asked 
permission  to  spend  the  morning  in  her  room  where  with 
the  help  of  Aunt  Eunice  she  occupied  herself  with  the  ar 
rangement  of  their  wordrobe.  She  devised  this  employ 
ment  chiefly  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  Winnie  out  of  the 
way  of  the  family  during  the  day,  as  she  feared  that  very 
plain-spoken  young  lady  would  give  serious  offence  to  their 
entertainers  by  the  frankness  with  which  she  would  be  sure 
to  express  her  views. 

Aunt  Eunice  was  ready  to  explode  with  suppressed  disgust 
and  wrath,  but  she  had  "  put  a  lock  on  her  mouth,"  as  she 
informed  her  mistress  and  kept  silent  thus  far. 

The  day  passed  quietly  enough,  the  women  of  the  house 
hold  being  occupied  with  their  domestic  affairs,  and  the 
Bishop  and  Mr.  Wallace  away.  When  they  returned  in  the 
afternoon  Wallace  brought  his  wife  the  welcome  inteligence 
that  he  had  succeeded  in  making  a  bargain  for  a  place  that 
they  could  take  possession  of  immediately.  Their  host 
urged  them  to  remain  another  night  at  least,  but  they  de 
clined,  pleading  the  necessity  of  unpacking  their  goods  as 
soon  as  possible,  to  save  them  from  injury. 

Mr.  Wallace's  purchase   consisted  of  two  lots,  on  one  of 


96  IN  THE  TOILS. 

which  has  a  small  but  well-built  house.  Here  Esther  thought 
they  could  make  themselves  quite  comfortable  until  Spring, 
when  Wallace  said  he  would  build  on  the  other  lot,  and 
here  they  brought  their  household  goods  at  once. 

Brother  Williams,  who  had  accompanied  them  and  offered 
his  services  to  assist -in  unpacking,  observed,  as  they  were 
admiring  the  neatness  of  the  little  house : 

"  This  place  will  do  nicely  for  your  second  wife,  Brother 
Wallace,  when  you  get  your  new  house  built." 

Wallace  drew  himself  up  haughtily.  "  The  house  will 
never  be  needed  for  such  a  purpose"  he  said,  "and  I  must 
beg  of  you  not  to  make  any  more  remarks  of  such  a  nature 
in  the  presence  of  my  family." 

"  Oho !  that  is  the  way  the  \vind  sets  is  it,"  said  the 
Bishop  laughing  good-naturedly,  "  well  brother,  I  meant,  no 
offence  I  assure  you,  but  I  see  we  must  give  you  a  little  time 
to  get  used  to  our  ways." 

Esther  flashed  a  bright  glance  at  her  husband;  she  had 
a  good  cause  to  be  proud  of  him  yet ;  while  Aunt  Eunice 
with  an  ominous  scowl  on  her  ebony  features,  rattled  the 
furniture  about  in  a  manner  that  boded  no  good  to  the 
Bishop  if  he  could  but  have  understood  it. 


PART  I.— CHAPTER  vi. 

"  LAYING     ON     OF     HANDS  " THE    WARNING — THE     EAVES 
DROPPER BROTHER    DANIELS  WAVERING  IN  THE  FAITH. 

In  the  course  of  a  week  the  Wallaces  were  comfortably 
settled  in  their  new  home,  which  they  found  even  more 
pleasant  than  they  anticipated.  The  former  owner  of  the 
place  had  set  out  fruit  and  shade  trees  in  abundance,  and 
the  little  plat  of  ground  in  front  of  their  house  was  bright 
with  late  flowers.  In  doors,  everything  was  neat  and  cheer 
ful.  The  rooms,  though  small,  were  convenient,  and  after 
being  fitted  up  with  various  articles  which  they  had  brought 
with  them,  "  looked  like  home,"  as  Winnie  delightedly 
asserted. 

During  the  rather  tedious  process  of  "  getting  to  rights," 
they  had  a  number  of  calls,  but  Aunt  Eunice  met  the  visit 
ors  at  the  door  with  the  announcement  that  the  mistress 
was  too  busy  to  see  company  now,  and  would  be  glad  to 
have  them  come  again  after  they  were  settled.  The  breth 
ren  who  came  to  see  Wallace  in  the  evening,  however,  were 
not  to  be  turned  away  so  easily.  Some  of  them  were  the 
great  ones  of  the  church,  the  leaders  whose  word  was  law, 

O 

and  Esther,  watching  them  as  they  conversed  with  her 
husband,  could  not  but  wonder  how  they  obtained  their 
ascendency  over  the  people.  They  appeared  to  be,  for  the 
most  part,  men  of  little  talent  and  less  culture,  and  almost 
without  exception,  bore  on  their  faces  the  stamp  of  a  coarse 
and  violent,  or  a  brutal  and  sensual  nature. 


98  IN  THE  TOILS. 

How  Charles  Wallace,  intellectual,  refined  and  sensitive, 
could  fraternize  with  those  men  was  inexplicable,  yet  when 
they  descanted  on  the  mysteries  of  their  faith,  and  told  of 
the  visions  and  revelations  with  which  the  Lord  had  favored 
"  this  people,"  he  listened  as  to  a  message  from  Heaven. 

One  of  the  brethren  known  as  Elder  Richards,  made  the 
gift  of  healing  his  especial  theme,  asseverating  that  the 
words  "  they  shall  lay  hands  on  the  sick  and  they  shall  re 
cover,"  were  being  literally  fulfilled  day  after  day,  not  only 
here  in  Zion,  but  in  all  parts  of  the  world  where  the  preach 
ers  of  the  new  gospel  found  believing  hearers.  There  were 
no  physicians  in  these  valleys  of  the  mountains  he  said, 
because  none  were  needed.  When  any  of  their  people  were 
sick  they  obeyed  the  Apostolic  injunction  to  call  for  the 
Elders  of  the  church  to  pray  and  lay  hands  on  them. 

"And  do  your  sick  recover  without  the  use  of  medicines 
under  this  treatment,"  asked  Wallace.  "Always,"  answered 
his  visitor  impressively.  "Or,"  he  added  after  a  pause, 
"If  they  are  not  healed  it  is  because  of  their  own  lack  of 
faith.  You  know  we  are  told  in  the  scriptures  that  there 
were  places  where  even  the  Saviour  of  man  himself  could 
not  do  many  mighty  works  because  of  their  unbelief. 

The  next  evening  after  this  conversation,  Elder  Richards 
called  early,  and  invited  Wallace  to  go  with  him  and  witness 
the  healing  of  a  person  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption. 
The  invitation  was  at  once  accepted,  and  if  the  Elder  had 
profited  at  all  by  his  opportunities  for  the  study  of  human 
nature,  he  must  have  seen,  from  the  rapt  expression  on  the 
new  convert's  face,  that  no  miracle  could  be  claimed  for 
the  new  gospel  which  would  go  beyond  his  belief. 

The  scene  of  the  proposed  cure  was  a  humble  cottage 
more  than  a  mile  away,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  When 
they  reached  the  house,  they  found  a  number  of  the  breth 
ren  assembled.  The  place  was  dimly  lighted  by  a  single 


IN  THE  TOILS.  99 

tallow  candle,  and  when  they  entered  the  door  they  could 
barely  discern,  through  the  gloom,  a  bed  in  the  farther  cor 
ner  with  the  figure  of  a  woman  bending  over  it,  but  the  rat 
tling  breath  of  the  patient  was  plainly  audible,  even  above 
the  woman's  loud  sobs. 

Elder  Richards  pushed  his  way  across  the  room  to  the 
bedside,  whispering  to  Wallace  to  follow.  The  sick  man 
lay  back  among  his  pillows,  seemingly  unconscious,  and 
with  the  stamp  of  death,  us  Wallace  thought,  already  on  his 
face. 

As  the  Elder  took  his  place  by  the  bed,  a  silence  fell 
upon  the  company.  The  woman  hushed  her  sobs,  and  all 
waited  reverently  for  the  invocation  of  the  Healing  Power. 

Wallace  looked  on  with  awe,  while  the  ceremony  of 
anointing  with  oil  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  was  performed. 
In  the  mood  in  which  he  was  then,  it  would  have  been  no 
surprise  to  him  if  a  voice  from  heaven  had  uttered  the 
words,  ''  Thy  faith  maketh  thee  whole,"  so  when  the  Elder, 
concluding  his  prayer  with  his  hands  resting  on  the  sick 
man,  pronounced  him  healed,  it  seemed  quite  a  matter  of 
course  that  he  should  raise  himself  unaided  from  his  pillow, 
as  he  did,  and  in  a  clear  and  natural  voice  give  thanks  for 
his  restoration. 

Any  one  a  little  more  inclined  to  skepticism  would  have 
noticed  that  all  the  circumstances  of  the  supposed  cure 
were  such  as  to  favor  deception,  and  that  the  whole  scene 
was  one  which  might  have  been  gotten  up  with  very  little 
effort,  for  the  purpose  of  imposin  g  upon  a  credulous  disci 
ple. 

Wallace  himself  had  doubtless  witnessed  better  acting  on 
the  stage,  but  he  had  come  to  the  place  fully  satisfied  that 
a  miracle  was  to  be  performed,  and  he  was  not  in  a  frame  of 
mind  to  demand  proofs  that  the  sick  was  healed  by  Divine 
power.  Still,  somehow,  when  he  reached  home  he  did  not 


ioo  IN  THE  TOILS. 

feel  inclined  to  tell  his  wife  of  the  "  miracle,"  and  replied 
to  her  questions  on  the  subject  as  briefly  and  evasively  as 
possible. 

He  could  scarcely  have  told  why  he  did  this;  perhaps  it 
was  only  because  he  dreaded  the  fire  of  keen  cross-ques 
tioning  that  would  have  followed  his  statement  cf  what  he 
had  witnessed,  but  of  late  he  seldom  spoke  to  Esther  of 
anything  connected  with  his  new  faith,  and  as  that  occupied 
his  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  almost  everything  else,  it 
came  to  pass  that  confidential  talks  between  the  husband 
and  wife  on  any  subject  were  very  few.  It  was  the  begin 
ning  of  the  end, 

"  The  little  rift  within  the  Lute." 

Esther  felt  this,  and  the  sense  of  utter  desolation  which 
came  with  the  knowledge  that  she  no  longer  shared  her 
husband's  thoughts,  or  possessed  his  confidence,  would  have 
crushed  even  her  strong  spirit,  if  she  had  not  been  sustained 
by  the  hope  that  he  would  yet  come  to  himself,  and  cast 
aside  the  delusion  that  must  otherwise  prove  the  bane  of 
both  their  lives. 

Again,  when  she  was  tempted  to  exclaim,  "  My  burdens  are 
greatei  than  I  can  bear,"  she  schooled  herself  to  patience 
by  the  thought  of  those  around  her  whose  lot  was  incompar 
ably  more  bitter  than  her  own.  The  face  of  the  aged 
woman  whose  silent  misery  she  had  witnessed  on  the  night 
of  her  arrival  still  haunted  her,  and  she  could  not  forget 
the  wistful,  pleading  eyes  of  the  girl,  Eva,  though  seen  only 
for  a  moment. 

But  above  all,  the  fate  of  the  betrayed  wife  of  Claude 
Sperry  made  her  own  sorrows  seem  light.  A  few  days  after 
they  were  settled  in  Salt  Lake,  her  faithful  servant  Sarah 
brought  them  the  news  of  her  death. 

Deserted  by  all  except  this  one  humble  friend,  the  heart 
broken  wife  breathed  her  last  without  receiving  one  token 


IN  THE  TOILS.  ioi 

of  tenderness  from  the  man  who  had  vowed  to  love  and 
cherish  her,  or  one  sign  that  she  was  remembered  by  the 
sister,  who  for  a  whole  lifetime  had  shared  her  every 
thought. 

Just  two  weeks  from  the  day  of  her  death  there  was  a 
double  bridal.  The  bereaved  and  SORROWING  husband  was 
united  in  marriage  to  the  equally  afflicted  sister  and  her 
friend  Clara.  And  the  man  who  furnished  this  example  of 
utter  heartlessness  and  baseness  was  a  High  Priest  of  the 
religion  Esther's  husband  had  just  espoused,  in  favor  with 
the  leaders  of  the  people  and  applauded  by  them  for  "ris 
ing  above  human  weakness," — that  is  to  say  for  proving 
himself  without  either  heart  or  conscience. 

Before  they  had  been  in  Salt  Lake  many  weeks,  Es 
ther  had  an  opportunity  of  learning  that  Father  Belden's 
charges  against  the  Mormons,  and  his  fears  that  she  and  her 
child  might  be  made,  as  he  said,  the  victims  of  their  bar 
barous  creed  were  not  without  foundation.  Among  the 
neighbors  who  called  on  them  in  their  new  home  was  a  Mrs. 
Nye.  This  lady  was,  like  herself,  from  New  York,  and  Es 
ther  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  she  had  little  sympa 
thy  with  the  belief  or  practices  of  the  Saints. 

One  afternoon,  as  it  happened,  Mrs.  Nye  came  in  when 
she  was  quite  alone.  After  ascertaining  this  fact,  and  giv 
ing  a  cautious  glance  from  the  window,  she  drew  a  chair 
near  her  hostess  and  said  in  a  low  voice  : 
"  Mrs.  Wallace,  I  have  been  waiting  some  days  for  an  oppor 
tunity  to  give  you  a  word  of  warning.  It  is  well  understood 
here  that  you  are  not  a  Mormon,  and  to  my  certain  knowledge 
your  husband  has  been  counseled  to  compel  you  to  be  bap 
tized  or  else  give  you  up  and  take  another  wife  in  your  place. 
You  are  a  stranger  here  and  don't  know  what  fate  would 
overtake  you  if  your  husband  should  put  you  away  for  such 
a  cause,  and  if  I  should  tell  you,  you  might  find  it  hard  to 


102  IN  THE  TOILS. 

believe  me.  Yet  great  as  your  danger  is,  I  cannot  advise 
you  to  do  as  I  did." 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  looked  out  of  the  window 
again  to  make  certain  that  there  was  no  one  in  hearing  and 
then  resumed : 

"  My  husband  embraced  Mormonism  in  New  York, 
and  soon  after  his  conversion  made  up  his  mind  to  emigrate 
to  Utah.  I  loved  him  too  well  to  give  him  up,  and  I  came 
with  him.  We  had  not  been  here  more  than  a  week  before 
he  was  waited  on  by  some  of  the  Elders  of  the  Church,  and 
commanded  to  put  me  away  unless  I  would  consent  to  be 
baptized.  I  had  learned  enough  in  our  journey  to  know 
what  my  fate  would  be  if  my  husband  forsook  me.  I  had 
one  little  child  and  life  was  sweet.  Alone,  I  might  have 
braved  death,  perhaps,  but  with  my  baby  in  my  arms  I  could 
not.  So,  though  my  whole  nature  revolted  from  the  teach 
ings  of  Mormonism,  I  suffered  myself  to  be  baptized,  and 
perjured  my  soul  by  taking  on  my  lips  the  vows  they  exact 
ed  of  me.  I  have  never  known  a  happy  hour  since,  and 
after  all  I  have  gained  little  by  my  sin,  for  I  have  always 
stood  out  against  'counsel;' — that  is  to  say,  I  would  not 
consent  to  my  husband  taking  other  wives,  and  as  for  him, 
poor  fellow,  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  he  has  always 
refused  to  take  them  without  my  consent.  For  this  we  have 
both  been  marked,  he  as  weak  in  the  faith,  and  I  as  rebell 
ious,  and  we  have  been  made  to  suffer  every  thing  that  the 
malice  of  priesthood  could  invent.  I  will  give  you  just  one 
example  of  their  dealings  with  those  who  disobey  counsel: 

"  A  few  weeks  before  my  third  child  was  born,  my  hus 
band  gave  serious  offence  by  declining  to  marry  the  niece  of 
our  Bishop.  He  must  be  punished  in  some  way  and  so  he 
was  ordered  out  of  the  Territory  on  a  three  year's  mission. 
He  did  not  have  a  dollar  to  leave  with  me,  as  those  who  sent 
him  away  knew  very  well,  and  the  house  which  he  was  build- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  103 

ing  to  shelter  us  during  the  winter  was  only  finished  as  far 
as  the  outer  walls  and  roof,  but  that  was  too  good  a  home 
for  a  rebellious  wife,  and  two  weeks  after  my  husband  left, 
our  house  and  lot  were  sold  by  the  city  authorities  for  six 
dollars'  tax,  which  they  claimed  was  due. 

"  I  should  have  been  left  to  perish  on  the  street  with  my 
little  ones,  but  for  the  humanity  of  a  neighbor,  who  bought 
in  the  house  at  the  sale  and  refused  to  allow  me  to  be  dis 
turbed. 

"This  same  good  and  generous  man,  though  far  from  rich 
himself,  kept  us  from  starvation  during  the  winter,  and  when 
summer  came  I  was  able  to  earn  bread  for  my  babes,  and 
we  managed  somehow  to  live  through  the  three  years  of  my 
husband's  absence. 

"I  had  watched  for  his  coming  as  eagerly  as  any  wife  would, 
after  such  a  separation,  but  his  return  was  only  the  signal 
for  fresh  prosecutions.  He  has  been  home  about  a  year 
now,  and  nearly  every  week  during  that  time  he  has  been 
visited  by  some  of  the  brethren  and  reproved  by  them  for 
his  neglect  of  duty  in  the  matter  of  taking  other  wives,  and 
this  generally  in  my  presence. 

"Often  these  advisers  are  good  enough  to  mention  the 
names  of  different  girls  that  he  could  marry  if  he  would,  and 
my  own  wickedness  in  withholding  my  consent  to  such  mar 
riages  is  denounced  in  language  that  I  will  not  repeat.  In 
addition  to  this,  I  have  lately  received  two  or  three  '  warn 
ings'  in  regard  to  my  obstinacy, — notes  slipped  under  my 
door  at  night;  here  is  a  specimen." 

Mrs.  Nye  took  from  her  pocket  a  dirty  and  crumbled  slip 
of  paper  on  which  a  rude  representation  of  a  coffin  was 
drawn  in  pencil.  Underneath  was  written  "  Thus  saith  the 
Lord,  the  woman  who  refuses  to  give  other  wives  to  her 
husband,  she  shall  be  destroyed.  The  time  is  at  hand  when 
the  sword  of  the  Lord  will  be  unsheathed,  not  in  word  but 


104  IN  THE  TOILS. 

in  deed ;  therefore  prepare  to  have  your  blood  spilled  upon 
the  ground  that  sinners  may  take  warning  and  Zion  be 
purified." 

Mrs.  Wallace  looked  at  the  note  a  moment  and  then 
handed  it  back  saying  : 

'  You  don't  surely  attach  any  importance  to  this  scrawl?" 

"Ah  !  Mrs.  Wallace,"  replied  her  visitor,  "no  one  but  a 
stranger  would  ask  such  a  question.  Night  after  night, 
sitting  alone  in  my  home  with  my  sleeping  children,  I  have 
heard  the  stealthy  steps  of  the  church  spies  under  my  win 
dows,  and  the  slightest  pretext  such  as  would  have  been 
afforded  by  the  presence  of  a  suspected  person  in  my  house, 
or  by  overhearing  any  conversation  that  savored  of  dis 
loyalty  to  the  Prophet,  would  have  converted  these  spies 
into  murderers." 

"But  why  have  you  not  appealed  to  the  law  for  pro 
tection  ?  " 

"  Law !  There  is  no  law  here  but  the  will  of  Brigham 
Young.  He  is  not  only  the  absolute  head  of  the  church, 
but  the  Governor  of  the  Territory,  and  every  office  from 
the  highest  to  to  the  lowest  is  filled  by  his  creatures,  so  you 
may  judge  what  protection  or  redress  the  law  as  admin 
istered  by  them  would  afford." 

Mrs.  Nye  spoke  with  strong  feeling,  but  still  in  suppressed 
tones,  scarcely  raising  her  voice  above  a  whisper.  Esther, 
hardly  knowing  whether  to  credit  what  she  heard  or  to 
think  her  visitor  demented,  sat  a  moment  in  silence,  and 
then  asked: 

"  If,  as  I  infer,  you  consider  my  life  in  danger  under  pres 
ent  circumstances,  what  would  you  advise  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Keep  as  quiet  as  possible.  Avoid  expressing  your  opin 
ion  with  regard  to  any  of  the  doctrines  of  the  church, 
polygamy  especially.  If  you  can  rely  on  your  husband, 
there  is  no  need  of  drawing  the  wrath  of  the  Priesthood 


IN   THE  TOILS.  105 

upon  your  own  head  by  open  opposition  to  their  teachings." 

"  If  you  can  rely  on  your    husband  !  " 

A  few  months  ago  Esther  would  have  resented  this  as  an 
insult;  now  she  thought,  with  a  deadly  sickness  at  her  heart, 
of  the  gulf  that  was  widening  between  them. 

Could  she  rely  on  him  ?  Even  if  his  heart  should  not  be 
turned  from  her,  his  mind  was  likely  to  be  so  warped  by 
the  teachings  to  which  he  listened,  that  he  would  think 
he  did  God  service  in  forsaking  her.  The  possibility  was 
too  dreadful  to  dwell  upon,  yet  she  could  not  banish  it 
from  her  thoughts.  At  loss  for  words  in  which  to  continue 
a  conversation  that  had  become  so  painful,  she  rose  mechan 
ically,  and  walking  to  the  window  looked  out  as  her  guest 
had  done.  The  figure  of  a  man,  crouching  behind  a  row 
of  currant  bushes  at  the  back  of  the  garden  and  creeping 
cautiously  toward  the  house,  met  her  astonished  gaze. 
Putting  her  finger  on  her  lips,  she  beckoned  to  Mrs.  Nye, 
who  came  forward  and  looking  out  said  in  a  whisper:  "  One 
of  the  police,  They  saw  me  coming  here  I  suppose.  We 
must  sit  down  and  talk  loudly  enough  for  him  to  hear  on 
subjects  that  will  not  interest  him." 

Both  ladies  accordingly  took  a  seat  near  the  window 
and  began  a  house- wifely  chat  on  pickling,  preserving  and 
so  forth.  When  these  important  matters  had  been  fully 
discussed,  Mrs.  Nye  rose  to  go  and  Mrs.  Wallace  accom 
panied  her  to  the  door.  A  careless  side  glance  made  them 
both  aware  that  the  spy  had  moved  along  to  the  corner  of 
the  house,  to  make  sure  of  their  parting  words.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  their  importance  rewarded  him  amply.  Here 
they  are: 

(Mrs.  Nye),  ''  If  you'll  send  over  for  some  of  my  yeast 
Mrs.  Wallace,  I  think  you  will  say,  after  you  have  tried  it, 
that  it  makes  the  best  bread  you  ever  ate." 

(Mrs.  W. )  '  Thank  you,   Mrs.  Nye,  I  will  send  for  it 


106  IN  THE  TOILS. 

certainly,  for  Aunt  Eunice  has  been  quite  discouraged  about 
our  baking  lately?" 

Esther  staid  out  of  doors  some  minutes  after  her  visitor 
left,  watching  for  her  husband's  return.  She  was  a  brave 
woman,  physically  and  morally,  but  the  revelations  to  which 
she  had  listened  were  startling  enough  to  unsettle  the  firmest 
nerves,  and  she  shrank  from  sitting  down  alone  in  the  little 
room  where  she  could  almost  hear  the  breathing  of  the  spy 
crouching  under  the  window. 

The  honest  black  face  of  Aunt  Eunice,  who  turned  the 
corner  at  this  juncture,  with  her  market  basket  on  her  arm, 
was  a  most  welcome  sight  to  Esther.  Somehow,  the  pre 
sence  of  this  faithful  servant  was  more  reassuring  to  her 
than  that  of  her  husband,  though  she  would  not  have  ac 
knowledged  as  much  to  herself  even. 

As  Aunt  Eunice  neared  the  house,  the  spy  was  endeavor 
ing  to  make  his  way  out  as  he  had  come,  behind  the  row  of 
current  bushes,  when  her  quick  eye  caught  sight  of  some 
moving  object,  and  to  Esther's  consternation  she  picked  up 
a  large  stone  and  hurled  it  in  that  direction  with  force  and 
precision,  crying  out : 

"  Dere's  some  sort  ob  critter  in  de  garden  Missus,  a 
tramplin  down  de  yerbs," 

The  "  critter  "  instantly  dropped  out  of  sight,  and  when 
Aunt  Eunice,  after  setting  her  basket  down  on  the  steps, 
seized  a  stick  and  rushed  into  the  garden,  in  hot  pursuit  of 
the  destroyer  of  her  "  yerbs  "  no  living  object  could  be 
found. 

"I  clare  for't  Miss  Esther,"  she  said,  as  she  returned 
panting  from  her  bootless  chase,  "de  berry  same  ole  sarpint 
what  de  Good  Book  tells  about,  must  a  bin  in  de  garden, 
fur  sartin  as  I  see  you,  I  seed  suthin  black  a  creepin'  be 
hind  de  bushes  an1  when  I  gits  to  de  place  dere's  nuffin'  in 


IN  THE  TOILS.  107 

sight  nowheres,  an'  no  tracks  'ceptin  ob  suthin'  crawlin1  on 
de  ground." 

Esther  did  not  controvert  this  view  of  the  case,  thinking 
it  best  for  the  present  to  keep  the  discovery  she  had  made 
to  herself. 

The  next  few  weeks  passed  quietly  enough.  Mrs.  Nye 
did  not  call  again,  her  husband  spent  most  of  his  time  at 
home,  and  there  was  a  cessation  of  the  avalanche  of  visitors 
which  descended  on  them  the  first  month  after  their  arrival. 

Whatever  counsel  Wallace  may  have  received  with  regard 
to  his  marital  relations,  none  but  himself  was  the  wiser  for 
it.  In  his  family  he  never  referred  to  the  peculiar  marriage 
customs  of  the  Saints,  and  a  stranger  might  have  supposed 
he  felt  no  interest  in  them,  but  when  Winnie,  with  a  childs 
aptitude  for  putting  awkward  questions,  asked  him  why  the 
little  girls  next  door,  with  whom  she  played,  had  to  give 
away  their  papa,  his  face  flushed  and  he  avoided  his  wife's 
eyes  while  he  answered  that  he  did  not  know. 

And  when  Aunt  Eunice  freed  her  mind,  as  she  occasion 
ally  did,  in  relation  to  the  polygamous  practices  of  "  dese 
yere  heathen  "  he  betrayed  his  sensitiveness  on  the  subject 
by  quitting  the  room  abruptly. 

They  had  now  been  two  months  in  Salt  Lake,  and  in  all 
that  time  they  had  heard  and  seen  nothing  of  Brother 
Daniels,  when  one  evening  he  surprised  them  by  calling  on 
them. 

After  the  first  friendly  greeting,  Wallace  asked  him  why 
he  had  kept  out  of  sight  so  long. 

He  hesitated,  glanced  at  Winnie,  who  was  present  and 
answered  that  he  had  been  away  from  the  city.  As  soon 
as  Aunt  Eunice  had  taken  the  child  to  her  room,  Daniels 
burst  out  impetously  : 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have  come  here  to-night  with 
such  a  story  as  I  am  about  to  tell,  but  I  felt  as  though  I 


io8  IN  THE  TOILS. 

must  have  sympathy  from  some  source,  and  I  didn't  know 
where  else  to  go." 

Wallace  cordially  assured  him  that  if  he  was  in  any  diffi 
culty  in  which  they  could  be  of  service  to  him,  they  would 
gladly  do  anything  for  him  in  their  power. 

"  I  don't  know  that  any  body  can  help  me,"  he  answered, 
"  and  the  trouble  is  one  that  I  have  brought  on  others.  You 
remember  my  telling  you  of  the  young  English  girl,  Eliza 
Harper,  whom  I  took  for  my  third  wife  ?  I  knew  or  might 
have  known,  when  I  married  her,  that  she  had  no  affection 
for  me,  and  only  accepted  me  as  her  husband  because  com 
pelled  to  do  so  by  her  destitute  and  friendless  condition.  I 
can't  say  that  I  cared  much  for  her  either,  but  I  was  per 
suaded  that  it  was  my  duty  to  marry  her,  and  I  obeyed 
counsel.  About  a  year  after  I  took  her,  I  was  sent  away 
on  this  mission.  During  my  absence  Eliza,  who  never 
loved  me  and  never  had  any  reason  to,  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  a  young  man,  a  Gentile,  who  stopped  here  a  while 
on  his  way  to  California,  and  the  end  of  it  all  was  that  she 
ran  away  with  him,  just  before  I  got  home.  According  to 
our  belief,  and  I  must  say  our  practice  too,  she  has  com 
mitted  a  sin  that  must  be  punished  with  death,  and  my 
duty,  in  the  light  of  the  teachings  I  have  received,  was  to 
follow  her  and  her  lover  and  kill  them  both,  but  I  could  not 
do  it.  I  have  learned  that  the  young  man  always  conducted 
himself  well  while  in  Salt  Lake,  and  that  he  wished  to 
marry  Eliza  honorably  as  soon  as  they  could  get  out  of  the 
Territory, — would  have  married  her  here  if  he  could, — and 
if  the  poor  child  found  plural  wifehood  a  burden  too  heavy 
to  bear,  I  cannot  blame  her  for  trying  to  escape  from  it.  I 
am  only  sorry  that  she  did  not  know  me  well  enongh  to  wait 
for  my  return,  and  tell  me  the  whole  truth,  as  in  that  case  I 
would  have  given  her  a  bill  of  divorce  and  let  her  go  in 
peace." 


IN  THE  TOILS.  i°9 

"  I  do  not.  quite  understand  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace. 
"Do  husbands  divorce  their  wives  here  themselves?" 

Practically  they  do.  It  only  costs  ten  dollars  to  dissolve  a 
plural  marriage.  In  this  case  I  would  have  gone  to  Presi 
dent  Young  and  told  him  that  Eliza  and  I  had  mutually 
agreed  to  separate,  and  upon  payment  of  the  customary 
fee  the  divorce  would  have  been  granted  by  him,  and  no 
questions  asked. 

"And  are  women  divorced  in  this  manner  free  to  marry 
when  they  please?  " 

'  Free  to  marry  any  Saint.  Inter-marriages  with  Gentiles 
are  not  countenanced.  The  young  man  who  wished  to 
marry  Eliza  would  have  been  obliged  to  identify  himself 
with  us,  outwardly  at  least." 

"And  now  I  suppose  Eliza's  sin  in  leaving  you  without 
such  a  divorce  is  counted  much  less  than  the  one  she  com 
mits  in  marrying  a  Gentile." 

"  That  is  true,  and  it  is  also  true  that  if  a  woman  for 
sakes  a  Gentile  husband  and  marries  a  Saint,  she  is  told 
that  she  has  done  her  duty  and  God  will  reward  her,  but  I 
cannot  view  such  things  just  as  I  have  been  taught  to." 

At  this  stage  of  the  conversation  Brother  Daniels  glanced 
uneasily  toward  the  windows  just  as  Mrs.  Nye  had  done, 
but  noticing  that  the  heavy  wooden  shutters  on  the  outside 
were  closed,  he  seemed  reassured  and  continued  his  story. 

"When  I  came  home  and  found  Eliza  gone,  I  lost  no 
time  in  ascertaining  the  direction  she  had  taken,  but  not  as 
my  brethren  supposed  for  the  purpose  of  following  her  and 
shedding  her  blood.  I  had  a  far  different  object  in  view, 
for  I  not  only  forgave  the  poor  girl  with  all  my  heart  for 
leaving  me,  but  I  wished  to  save  her  and  her  lover  from  the 
bloody  and  cruel  death  they  would  be  sure  to  meet  with  at 
other  hands,  if  I  was  known  to  be  neglecting  my  duty.  I 
left  Salt  Lake  six  weeks  ago  on  their  track,  and  without 


no  IN  THE  TOILS. 

doubt  my  friends  in  the  church  think  they  have  received 
their  punishment." 

He  stopped  here  and   scanned  the  faces  of  his  listeners. 

Wallace,  marking  his  hesitancy,  said: 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  to  tell  us  the  truth.  We  at  least 
will  not  blame  you  for  listening  to  the  dictates  of  human 
ity." 

"  I  know  you  will  not,  but  it  is  enough  to  make  one 
over-cautious  to  live  in  a  community  like  this,  when  a  man's 
bosom  friend  may  any  day  become  his  executioner.  Then 
too  J  have  been  in  Salt  Lake  long  enough  to  know  that  the 
walls  have  ears,  and  that  there  is  no  spot  in  Zion  where  it  is 
safe  to  speak  above  one's  breath.  I  have  no  cause  to  blush 
for  what  I*  have  done.  In  the  sight  of  God  I  feel  that  I  am 
justified  in  allowing  Eliza  to  escape, — in  aiding  her  escape 
in  fact,  for  that  is  what  I  have  done,  though  she  does  not 
know  it.  If  they  have  followed  the  directions  they  have 
received,  they  are  safely  out  of  the  Territory  to-night,  but  I 
shall  not  feel  quite  easy  about  them  until  I  hear  that  they 
have  reached  San  Francisco." 

"  Brother  Daniels,"  said  Esther  impulsively,  "  I  think  if 
ten  men  like  you  can  be  found  here  this  Sodom  may  yet  be 
saved." 

"Better  speak  a  little  lower  my  dear,"  suggested  her 
husband.  "  You  forgot  what  Brother  Daniels  has  just  been 
saying, — that  the  walls  have  ears." 

Then  turning  to  his  guest  he  added,  "  You  have  acted 
rightly ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  that,  I  think.  It  is 
true  that  Moses  commanded  those  guilty  of  adultery  to  be 
put  to  death,  but  it  was  One  greater  than  Moses  who  said 
'Neither  do  I  condemn  thee,  go  and  sin  no  more.'" 

"Adultery !  "  exclaimed  Esther,  her  cheeks  scarlet  and 
her  eyes  blazing.  "  It  was  to  escape  a  life  of  adultery  that 
the  poor  child  fled  from  this  accursed  place.  Shame  on  you, 


IN  THE  TOILS.  in 

Charles  Wallace,  for  coupling  her  name  with  such  a  word 
for  trying  to  get  where  she  could  lead  a  pure  life." 

Wallace  looked  at  his  wife  in  amazement.  He  had  never 
seen  her  in  such  a  mood  before  and  could  hardly  believe 
his  senses  now.  Was  this  the  calm,  sweet-voiced  woman 
who  had  walked  by  his  side  for  years? 

He  made  no  attempt  to  reply  to  her  indignant  words,  but 
Brother  Daniels,  with  his  customary  frankness  spoke  up  at 
once: 

"That  is  rather  bitter  Mrs.  Wallace,  but  I  for  one  won't 
reject  the  truth  because  it  is  unpalatable.  I  have  taken 
plural  wives  because  I  was  made  to  believe  it  my  duty  to 
do  so,  but  my  experience  in  Polygamy  has  gone  a  long  way 
toward  convincing  me  that  such  a  system  cannot  have  a 
divine  origin." 

"  Then  why  not  abandon  it  at  once?  " 

"  Because  I  cannot.  The  only  plural  wife  that  I  have 
now  does  not  wish  to  leave  me,  and  I  don't  see  my  way 
clear  to  divorce  her  against  her  will.  She  has  never 
given  me  any  cause  of  complaint,  and  I  could  not  urge 
my  own  changed  views  as  a  reason  for  making  application 
to  the  President  for  a  bill." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  could  not." 

"Well,  perhaps  it  would  be  nearer  the  truth  to  say  I  dare 
not.  I  don't  like  to  own  myself  a  coward,  but  I  am  not 
ready  to  brave  the  consequences  of  coming  out  openly  in 
opposition  to  Polygamy." 

"And  what  might  those  consequences  be?  "  asked  Wal 
lace,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 

"  Don't  ask  me  "  was  the  answer.  "  You  will  find  out 
soon  enough  for  yourself  most  likely." 

"  Ye  who  would  live  holy  depart  from  Rome.  All 
things  are  allowed  here  except  to  be  upright "  quoted 
Esther. 


112  IN    THE    TOILS. 

"  I  wish  that  were  not  true  of  our  Zion,  but  I  almost 
begin  to  fear  that  it  is.  You  remember  the  Carmans,  father 
and  son,  whom  we  saw  on  the  plains.  As  soon  as  we 
reached  Salt  Lake,  I  went  to  President  Young  as  I  told  you 
I  should,  and  gave  him  a  full  history  of  their  transactions. 
He  heard  me  attentively  and  promised  to  look  into  the 
matter,  but  since  my  return  to  the  city  this  week  1  have 
learned  that  Elder  Carman  has  made  his  own  statement  to 
the  President  and  been  acquitted  of  all  blame.  I  have  also 
learned  from  trustworthy  sources  that  six  thousand  dollars 
of  poor  Brother  Leonard's  money  has  been  paid  into  the 
tithing  fund,  and  I  am  afraid  it  is  this  second  fact  which 
explains  the  first." 

"  I  recollect  your  prophesying  something  of  that  sort 
when  you  told  us  the  story,"  said  Mrs.  Wallace,  "  but  the 
robbery  they  were  guilty  of  was  a  light  crime  compared  with 
blighting  the  whole  life  of  the  poor  child  they  sacrificed  for 
the  sake  of  her  money.  Where  is  she  now?  Her  face  has 
haunted  me  ever  since  I  saw  her,  but  I  have  never  heard  a 
word  of  her  since  the  day  we  passed  them  on  the  plains." 

"  Her  fate  is  indeed  the  saddest  part  of  the  story.  She 
is  not  here.  James  Carman  only  stopped  one  night  in  Salt 
Lake  and  in  the  morning  started  with  the  girl  and  her  grand 
mother  for  a  ranch  that  he  owns  more  than  a  hundred  miles 
south.  I  have  been  there,  and  a  more  desolate  place  could 
not  well  be  be  imagimed  ; — a  log  cabin  and  a  shed  for 
cattle,  with  nothing  in  sight  but  endless  stretches  of  sage- 
bush,  and  not  a  human  habitation  of  any  description  with 
in  ten  miles.  Think  what  a  home  that  must  be  for  a 
girl  brought  up  delicately,  as  Eva  was, — and  there  James 
has  left  her  and  left  her  alone  unless  there  is  some  creat 
ure  with  her  that  he  has  hired  to  watch  her,  for  her  grand 
mother  died  on  her  way  to  the  place,  died  as  mysteriously 
as  her  husband  did  in  St.  Louis." 


IN  THE  TOILS.  113 

"  I  don't  see  your  object  in  telling  us  these  things,"  said 
Wallace,  with  a  sudden  sharpness  of  voice,  and  a  face  indi 
cating  great  mental  disturbance  :  "  Do  you  want  to  convince 
us  that  instead  of  gathering  with  the  Saints  we  have  fallen 
into  a  den  of  thieves  ?  " 

"  God  forbid  !  "  answered  the  other  earnestly.  "  There 
are  Saints  here,  raen  and  women  who  came  to  Zion  with 
the  purest  motives,  and  who  are  leading  lives  of  devotion  and 
self-sacrifice  that  I  verily  believe  are  without  a  parallel  any 
where  in  the  world.  That  there  are  also  wolves  in  sheep's 
clothing  among  us  ought  not  to  be  a  matter  of  surprise.  It 
is  not  that  which  unsettles  my  faith,  and  makes  me  fear  as 
I  do  that  I  have  been  following  cunningly-devised  fables. 
I  have  believed  the  teachings  of  Mormonism  as  firmly  as  I 
believe  in  God,  but  I  can  no  longer  be  blind  to  the  fact 
that  many  of  our  doctrines  bear  evil  fruits." 

"  Well  then,"  said  Wallace,  "  it  seems  to  me  the  part  of 
wisdom  to  follow  the  advice  given  long  ago  :  '  Prove  all 
things  and  hold  fast  that  which  is  good.'  If  there  are  errors 
in  Mormonism  I  will  reject  them,  but  hold  fast  the  truth 
that  I  know  has  been  revealed  in  these  latter  days." 

"  You  are  right  in  that,  but  I  must  warn  you  that  such  a 
sentiment  cannot  be  proclaimed  from  the  housetops  here  in 
Zion.  It  is  claimed  that  all  our  doctrines,  are  equally 
worthy  of  belief  because  all  have  been  made  known  to  us 
by  direct  revelation  from  Heaven,  and  to  doubt  one  of 
them, — Polygamy  for  instance,  is  to  lay  yourself  open  to 
the  charge  of  Apostacy." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  that  any  such  charge  will  be  brought 
against  me.  My  views  with  regard  to  Polygamy  are  well 
known,  and  my  right  to  entertain  them  has  not  been  ques 
tioned  by  any  one  as  yet." 

"  Well,  if  you  live  in  this  valley  a  year  and  are  allowed 
the.  free  expression  of  your  opinions  on  the  subject  of  plu- 


ii4  IN  THE  TOILS. 

ral  marriage  during  that  time,  all  I  have  to  say  is,  your  case 
will  be  an  exception  to  the  history  and  experience  of  your 
brethren.  Our  leaders  have  had  much  trouble  to  bring  the 
masses  of  the  people,  especially  the  women,  to  acquiesce  in 
this  doctrine,  and  it  is  not  their  policy  to  allow  anything  to 
be  said  which  might  unsettle  the  convictions  of  those  who 
are,  after  all,  by  no  means  as  firmly  grounded  in  the  faith 
as  they  could  wish." 

"  I  don't  propose  to  go  about  preaching  against  polygamy, 
neither  do  I  condemn  my  brethren  who  practice  it. 

"Let  every  man  be  fully  persuaded  in  his  own  mind.  If 
my  brother  believes  it  to  be  his  duty  to  take  more  wives 
than  one,  I  am  not  called  to  sit  in  judgment  on  his  conduct. 
All  that  I  have  said  and  all  that  I  intend  to  say  in  relation 
to  polygamy  is,  that  in  my  own  case  I  am  not  led  either  by 
inclination  or  conscience,  to  take  another  wife." 

"Ah,"  thought  Esther,  'we  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  em 
brace.'  How  long  will  it  be,  I  wonder  before  toleration  of  po 
lygamy  in  others  will  lead  to  its  acceptance  as  his  own  duty 
or  privilege,  "  and  for  the  first  time  she  was  conscious  of  a 
feeling  akin  to  contempt  for  the  man  she  had  honored  as 
well  as  loved  through  all  the  years  of  their  married  life.  It 
was  only  for  a  moment,  however,  that  she  gave  way  to  such 
a  feeling — then  her  heart  made  its  constant  excuse  for  him, 
"  He  is  not  himself." 

"  Well  might  the  inspired  historian  say  of  a  love 
passing  the  love  of  a  woman  that  it  was  "  wonder 
ful."  The  love  that  outlives  coldness,  ingratitude  and 
treachery  ;  that  hopes  against  hope  and  believes  to  the  last 
in  the  loved  one,  though  all  the  world  condemn  him,  is  not 
usually  man's  love.  Here  was  a  woman,  proud,  sensitive, 
and  counting  the  marriage  tie  and  the  love  that  makes  the 
soul  of  the  bond  the  holiest  thing  on  earth,  yet  pitying  and 
excusing  the  man  who  lowered  wedlock  to  the  state  of  a 


IN   THE  TOILS.  115 

contract  that  might  be  abrogated  at  will — and  that  the  will 
of  the  stronger  party  alone.  If  a  stranger  had  ventured  to 
express  a  sentiment  so  outrageous,  he  would  have  been  in 
dignantly  ordered  from  her  presence,  but  while  she  heard 
her  husband's  words  with  the  keenest  pain,  her  heart  re 
fused  to  condemn  him. 

Little  more  was  said  that  night  upon  a  subject  that  was 
full  of  bitterness  for  two  of  the  party  at  least,  and  Brother 
Daniels  took  his  leave  without  making  any  further  appeals 
for  advice  and  sympathy  in  his  own  trying  position. 


PART  I.— CHAPTER  VH. 

OUT    IN     THE    STORM. — WINNIE'S    APPEAL     FOR     THE     WAN 
DERER. — RECOGNITION. — LAST    PRECIOUS   WORDS. 

Another  month  passed.     It  was   now  December  and  raw 
and  chilly  winds  from  the  Lake,  with  an  occasional  snow 
storm  sweeping  down  from  the  Wasatch  peaks,  had  succeed 
ed  the  delicious  Indian  summer  that  made  the  valley  seem 
almost  like  the  Garden  of  Eden. 

On  one  of  the  bleakest  of  these  wintry  days,  when  the 
sky  was  thickly  overcast  and  the  snow  falling  in  damp,  heavy 
flakes,  Mrs.  Wallace  sat  alone  in  her  little  sewing  room, 
busied  upon  a  dress  for  Winnie.  Her  fingers  moved  rapidly, 
but  her  thoughts  were  far  from  her  work.  The  brightness 
had  gone  from  her  life  as  well  as  from  the  sky,  and  it  re 
quired  a  strong  faith  to  hold  fast  the  assurance  that  the  sun 
was  stili  shining  above  the  clouds. 

The  short  afternoon  was  wearing  away  and  darkness  was 
beginning  to  gather,  when  she  was  roused  from  her  gloomy 
musings  by  Aunt  Eunice,  who  opened  the  door  leading 
from  the  kitchen  and  asked  if, — "Miss  Esther  would  please 
step  dis  'way  a  minnit." 

Laying  aside  her  work,  she  prepared  to  obey  the  summons, 
thinking  that  some  difficulty  had  arisen  in  the  preparation 
of  supper,  but  when-she  raised  her  eye  to  the  face  of  Aunt 
Eunice,  who  was  standing  in  the  door-way,  her  faithful  ser 
vant's  look  of  anxiety  and  distress  betokened  more  serious 
trouble  than  burnt  biscuits  or  muddy  coffee.  "  Miss 


IN  THE  TOILS.  117 

Esther,"  she  said  in  an  earnest  whisper,  "  Dere's  a  poor 
critter  in  hyar  dat  de  Lord  knows  t'would  be  a  sin  to  send 
away,  but  I'm  feared  Massa  Wallace  won't  see  his  way 
clar  'bout  lettin  her  stay.  Jes'  you  come  an  '  ax  her  to  tell 
what  she  tole  me." 

Wondering  who  could  have  come  to  their  door  in  such  a 
storm,  she  followed  Aunt  Eunice  into  the  kitchen,  and  there, 
crouching  in  the  darkest  corner  like  a  hunted  animal,  was  a 
young  girl,  bare-footed,  bare-headed,  her  long  dark  hair 
damp  with  the  melting  snow  and  her  thin  cotten  garments 
wet  through  and  clinging  to  her  slender  figure. 

As  Esther  entered  she  turned  towards  her  a  pair  of  wild 
terrified  eyes,  but  seemingly  reassured  by  the  sight  of  a 
pitying  womanly  face  she  left  her  place  and  falling  on  her 
knees  cried:  " 

•'  Don't  turn  me  away,  pray  don't.  You  are  good,  I  know. 
They  say  you  are  not  a  Mormon,  and  that  was  the  reason 
why  I  came  here.  Nobody  else  would  let  me  in,  and  I 
could  not  go  much  farther.  You  will  let  me  stay  won't 
you?  I'll  do  anything.  I'll  work  for  a  crust  and  sleep  on 
the  bare  floor,  and  if  you  turn  me  off  I  must  freeze  to 
death  this  bitter  night;  though  I'd  rather  strave  and  freeze 
a  thousand  times  than  go  back  to  HIM." 

The  tone  in  which  she  pronounced  the  last  words  ex 
pressed  such  dread  and  loathing  that  her  listener  needed  no 
further  explanation,  yet  when  Esther  asked  : 

"Go  back  to  whom?  "  she  was  hardly  prepared  to  hear 
in  reply  the  name  of  one  of  the  highest  dignitaries  in  the 
Mormon  Church. 

She  would  not  question  the  trembling,  shivering  creature 
further,  but  in  the  kindest  words  assured  her  of  shelter  and 
protection,  and  then  bidding  her  sit  down  by  the  fire,  she 
went  in  search  of  dry  garments  for  her. 

Returning  with  them,  she  told  Aunt  Eunice  to  take  the 


n8  IN  THE  TOILS. 

girl  into  her  bed-room  and  make  her  change  her  wet  clothes 
at  once. 

"And  then,"  she  added,  "  when  you  are  dry  and  warm  and 
have  eaten  your  supper,  I  will  hear  your  story." 

It  was  by  this  time  quite  dark,  and  Aunt  Eunice  had  al 
ready  fastened  the  shutters  and  bolted  the  door.  The 
storm  was  increasing  in  violence  and  Esther  had  no  fear 
that  any  one  would  follow  the  girl  through  it,  but  in  any 
event  she  was  determined  to  protect  her. 

Mr.  Wallace  had  left  the  city  on  business  in  the  morning, 
expecting  to  be  absent  a  couple  of  days,  and  the  storm 
would  probably  detain  him  still  longer,  so  she  would  have 
ample  time  to  learn  the  particulars  of  the  girl's  history  and 
decide  what  course  to  take  before  his  return.  Winnie, 
though  she  had  all  of  a  child's  curiosity  to  know  what  was 
going  on,  remain  obediently  in  her  mothers  room,  where  she 
now  sat  rocking  her  doll  to  sleep,  while  she  waited  for 
mamma  and  supper,  outwardly  patient,  but  thinking  in  her 
heart  that  both  were  a  long  time  in  coming. 

Esther  entered  softly,  stood  a  moment  in  the  doorway 
watching  the  childish  figure  swaying  back  and  forth  in  the 
little  rocking  chair,  and  listening  to  the  sweet  voice  that 
sang,  as  her  mother  had  sung  so  often  beside  her  own 

cradle : 

Holy  Angels  guard  thy  bed. 

Tears  dimmed  the  mother's  eyes  as  her  thoughts  reverted 
to  the  homeless  wanderer  in  the  other  room,  who  perhaps 
had  once  been  as  safely  sheltered  and  as  tenderly  cared  for 
as  her  own  darling. 

"  God  helping  me,"  she  said  inwardly,  "  I  will  deal  with 
her  as  I  would  pray  my  dear  one  might  be  dealt  with  if  left 
motherless  and  alone." 

"Oh  mamma,"  said  Winnie,  turning  her  head  and  catch 
ing  sight  of  her,  "  I  arn  so  glad  you  have  come.  Aunt 


IN  THE    TOILS.  ITQ 

Eunice  said  when  she  lighted  the  lamp  that  I  must  stay  here 
and  be  a  good  girl  but  I  have  been  very  lonesome,  with  no 
body  but  dolly, — but  mamma  what  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you 
sick?  " 

"  No  dear.  Wait  till  Aunt  Eunice  brings  the  supper,  and 
I  will  tell  you." 

The  appearance  of  the  tea-tray  diverted  Winnie's  thoughts 
for  a  moment,  but  from  being  her  mother's  companion  so 
much  of  late,  she  had  learned  to  watch  her  moods,  and  her 
affectionate  heart  was  quick  to  note  any  shadow  on  the  face 
so  dear  to  her.  To-night  she  could  not  help  seeing  that 
mamma  looked  troubled,  and  in  her  childish  way  she  longed 
to  comfort  her,  but  she  asked  no  further  questions. 

After  they  were  cozily  seated  at  their  own  little  round 
table,  and  Aunt  Eunice  had  poured  the  tea,  Mrs.  Wallace 
said : 

"Winnie  dear,  there  is  a  poor  girl  in  the  kitchen  who  has 
no  home  and  nowhere  to  go.  She  came  here  in  the  storm, 
and  wants  to  stay.  Do  you  think  we  ought  to  keep  her?  " 

"Why  mamma  !  of  course  we  ought.  Don't  you  remem 
ber  the  verse  you  made  me  learn  last  Sunday,  '  Bring  the 
poor  that  are  cast  out  to  thy  house'  and  if  you  did'nt  have 
to  bring  this  poor  girl,  you  ought  to  let  her  stay  when  she 
came  herself." 

"Thou  hast  hid  these  things  from  the  wise  and  prudent 
and  revealed  them  unto  babes,"  thought  the  mother ;  then 
she  said  aloud  : 

"  But  suppose  she  should  not  be  a  good  girl,  would  my 
little  daughter  like  to  have  her  in  the  house  with  us?" 

"  Mamma,"  said  Winnie,  raising  her  serious,  earnest  eyes 
to  her  mother's  face,  "a  long  time  ago  when  we  lived  in  New 
York,  you  read  me  a  story  out  of  the  Testament  that  I  have 
remembered  ever  since.  It  was  about  a  woman  who  had 
been  very  wicked  and  was  sorry  for  it,  and  came  to  the 


I2O  IN    THE    TOILS. 

house  where  Jesus  was  and  began  to  wash  his  feet  with  her 
tears,  and  when  the  people  in  the  house  wanted  to  send  her 
away,  Jesus  would  not  let  them.  Don't  you  think  he  meant 
by  that,  that  if  people  have  been  ever  so  bad,  and  are  sorry, 
we  ought  to  keep  them  with  us  and  help  them  to  be 
good?" 

"Yes  darling,  I  do  think  so,  and  I  don't  know  that  this 
poor  girl  has  done  any  thing  wrong.  I  only  know  what  I 
told  you, — that  she  has  nowhere  to  go  and  wants  to  stay 
with  us,  but  after  supper  I  mean  to  ask  her  to  tell  me  about 
herself." 

"  Do  mamma,  and  I  hope  you  will  think  it  right  to  keep 
her.  Just  suppose  ir  was  me  that  had  to  be  out  on  the 
street  in  the  snow  to-night." 

In  her  earnestness  Winnie  repeated  the  appeal  that  had 
already  been  made  to  a  mothers  heart, — an  appeal 
which,  as  Esther  divined,  her  father  also  would  find 
it  hard  to  withstand ;  and  though  he  might  think  it  a 
serious  matter  to  risk  giving  shelter  to  one  who  had  fled 
from  the  house  of  the  High  Priest  the  girl  named,  he  surely 
could  not  be  deaf  to  the  voice  of  humanity  and  the  plead 
ings  of  his  own  innocent  child.  At  all  events,  her  own 
resolution  was  taken.  With  or  without  her  husband's  con 
sent  she  would  protect  the  helpless  and  friendless  creature 
who  had  sought  the  shelter  of  her  roof,  and  leave  the  result 
with  Him  who  commanded  her  to  succor  the  distressed. 

When  she  returned  to  the  kitchen  the  girl,  clad  now  in 
warm  and  comfortable  garments  and  further  refreshed  by  a 
cup  of  tea  and  the  food  Aunt  Eunice  urged  upon  her,  look 
ed  a  different  being  from  the  crouching,  shivering  creature 
that  appealed  to  her  compassion  an  hour  before. 

Esther,  now  that  she  was  able  to  observe  her  more  close 
ly,  thought  the  face  familiar.  She  had  surely  seen  her  be 
fore  but  where?  The  girl  guessing  her  thoughts  said: 


IN    THE  TOILS.  121 

"  I  did  not  suppose  you  would  recollect  me,  Mrs.  Wallace 
but  I  knew  you  at  once.  Don't  you  remember  little  Bessie 
Gordon  that  used  to  be  in  your  Sunday  school  class  at 
Easton  ?" 

"  Bessie !  Is  it  possible?  What  could  have  brought 
you  here.  Surely  your  father  and  mother  did  not  join  the 
Mormons  ?" 

"  No,  oh  no.  All  my  troubles  began  by  disobeying  them 
and  going  to  hear  the  Mormon  preacher.  It  is  a  long 
story,  but  you  cannot  understand  how  utterly  friendless  and 
alone  I  am  unless  I  tell  you  all. 

"When  we  left  Easton  four  years  ago  we  moved  to  Chester- 
ville,  and  I  don't  think  I  have  seen  you  since.  Last  winter, 
Elder  Harwood,  a  Mormon  missionary,  came  to  our  place 
and  many  of  the  people  were  quite  carried  away  by  his 
preaching.  Some  of  the  girls  that  I  knew  went  to  hear  him 
and  wanted  me  to  go  too.  I  was  certain  that  father  and 
mother  w^uld  never  consent,  so,  like  a  wicked  girl  as  I  was, 
I  determined  to  go  without  letting  them  know  anything  about 
it. 

"The  Grays,  friends  of  ours  at  the  other  end  of  the  town 
were  among  Elder  Harwood's  converts,  though  father  and 
mother  never  suspected  it.  Mrs. Gray  often  sent  for  me  to  stay 
over  night  with  her,  and  I  was  always  allowed  to  go.  She 
took  me  to  the  Mormon  meeetings  and  I  saw  Elder  Har 
wood  at  her  house. 

"I  can  hardly  tell  how  or  why  it  was  that  his  preaching 
affected  me  as  it  did. but  from  the  first  time  that  I  heard  him  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  had  been  in  the  dark  all  my  life  before. 
He  talked  so  much  about  crucifying  every  earthly  affection 
and  forsaking  all  for  the  gospel's  sake,  that  at  last  I  came 
to  believe  it  my  duty  to  deceive  my  kind  parents  and  steal 
away  from  my  home  and  gather  with  the  Saints  at  Zion. 
When  I  had  once  given  my  promise  to  go,  Elder  Harwood 


122  IN  THE  TOILS. 

planned  everything  for  me.  The  Mormon  converts  in  the 
place  were  to  start  the  first  of  June,  but  I  was  to  wait  a  few 
weeks  later  that  my  friends  might  not  suspect  anything. 
When  everything  was  in  readiness  for  my  flight,  I  got  per 
mission  to  pay  a  week's  visit  to  my  aunt  who  lived  a  few 
miles  out  in  the  country,  I  was  to  go  in  the  stage,  and  I  had 
to  walk  a  couple  of  blocks  to  the  place  it  started  from. 
My  father  was  away  at  his  business  and  my  mother  bade 
me  good-bye  for  the  week,  little  dreaming  she  would  never 
see  me  again. 

"As  soon  as  I  was  out  of  sight  of  the  house,  I  turned  and 
walked  rapidly  from  the  corner  where  I  should  have  met 
the  stage.  I  went  quite  to  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  to  a 
Mormon  family  who  had  orders  from  Harwood  to  take  care 
of  me.  They  received  me  very  kindly,  and  kept  me  con 
cealed  till  night.  The  woman  said  it  would  be  necessary 
for  me  to  disguise  myself  in  some  way,  so  she  made  me  put 
on  a  black  dress  and  cloak,  a  close  bonnet  and  a  thick  crape 
veil.  I  am  quite  sure  if  my  father  had  met  me  on  the  street 
in  that  dress  he  would  not  have  known  me.  When  the 
night  express  came  along,  the  woman's  husband  took  me  to 
the  cars  where  we  found  Harwood  waiting  for  me.  He  trav 
eled  with  me  as  far  as  Buffalo,  where  he  put  me  in  the  care 
of  a  man  and  his  wife, — Saints  on  their  way  to  Zion.  They 
brought  me  through  to  Florence  without  stopping,  indeed  ' 
from  the  moment  I  stepped  on  board  the  cars  at  Chester- 
ville,  I  was  hurried  along  so  rapidly  that  I  had  no  time  to 
think  about  what  I  had  done  and  we  only  reached  Florence 
the  night  before  the  emigrant  company  started  to  cross  the 
plains. 

"  Thue  far,  the  idea  that  I  was  doing  something  grand  and 
heroic  in  forsaking  home  and  friends  for  the  Gospel's  sake 
kept  me  up,  but  before  we  had  accomplished  the  first  hund 
red  miles  of  that  miserable  journey  I  began  to  see  my  con- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  123 

duct  in  its  true  light,  and  I  repented  bitterly  enough  of  my 
folly  and  wickedness: 

"  I  was  sick  on  the  way  and  thought  I  should  die.  I 
would  have  been  glad  of  that  if  I  had  not  remembered  some 
dreadful  Bible  words  about  disobedient  children.  I  did 
not  want  to  live  but  was  afraid  to  die  and  by  the  time  we 
reached  Salt  Lake  I  thought  I  did  not  care  what  became  of 
me. 

"A  few  days  after  we  got  here  I  was  taken  sick  again.  I 
was  stopping  with  a  poor  family  who  did  not  want  to  be 
burdened  with  me,  and  they  applied  to  the  Apostle  from 
whose  house  I  was  driven  out  this  morning.  He  came  to 
see  me  and  was  very  kind, — professed  a  great  interest  in 
me,  and  had  me  removed  at  once  to  his  house.  There  were 
two  women  there,  both  of  them  his  plural  wives,  though  I 
did'nt  know  it  at  the  time.  I  was  sick  a  long  while  and  he 
was  very  good  to  me,  and  so  were  the  women  when  he  was 
at  home,  but  when  he  was  away  they  treated  me  coolly. 

"When  I  got  well  enough  to  be  about  the  house  he  began 
to  spend  a  great  deal  of  time  with  me  and  finally  asked  me 
to  marry  him.  I  had  learned  before  this  who  the  women  in 
the  house  were  and  also  that  his  first  wife  was  living  near. 
I  felt  just  as  badly  to  have  him  make  such  a  proposal  as  I 
would  if  any  married  man  at  home  had  talked  to  me  in  the 
same  way,  and  I  begged  him  with  tears  never  to  speak  of 
such  a  thing  again.  He  took  my  answer  very  lightly  at 
first,  but  by  and  by  he  began  to  expostulate  and  threaten, 
and  at  last  he  told  me  if  I  did  not  marry  him  he  would 
make  me  wish  I  had  never  been  born. 

"Sunday, — yesterday,  he  came  to  me  and  told  me  he  would 
give  me  a  last  chance  to  choose  whether  I  would  marry  him 
or  meet  the  punishment  that  was  prepared  for  the  disobedi 
ent.  I  said  '  You  can  kill  me  if  you  like  but  I  will  never 
commit  such  a  sin  as  you  ask  me  to.'  Then  he  talked 


124  IN  THE  TOILS. 

awfully  to  me.  It  makes  my  blood  run  cold  yet  to  think 
of  some  things  he  said;  and  when  he  was  ready  to  leave  the 
house  he  took  me  by  the  arm  and  dragged  me  into  a  little 
empty  room,  where  he  left  me  all  that  day  and  night. 

"Early  this  morning  he  came  and  unlocked  the  door. 
'Well  Miss  Purity,'  he  said,  'I  hope  you  will  like  the  fate 
you  have  chosen.  Last  night  I  had  you  published  in  every 
Ward  meeting-house  in  the  city  as  a  vile  creature  whose 
shameless  conduct  could  no  longer  be  endured  by  the 
Saints,  and  all  the  people  are  forbidden  to  receive  you  into 
their  houses  or  to  give  you  so  much  as  a  crust  of  bread  or 
a  cup  of  water.  In  an  hour's  time  you  will  find  yourself  on 
the  street,  stripped  of  everything  except  the  rags  in  which  I 
found  you.  You  can  try  your  new  life  for  a  while,  and  when 
you  are  ready  to  come  to  me  and  acknowledge  your  sin  on 
your  knees,  perhaps  I  may  take  you  back.' 

"Without  waiting  for  any  reply  he  turned  and  called  to  the 
women,  who  I  suppose  had  been  listening  in  the  passage. 
They  came,  one  of  them  carrying  on  her  arm  the  clothes  I 
wore  when  I  fell  sick.  I  should  have  told  you  before  that 
the  few  things  I  brought  with  me  from  home  disappeared 
during  my  illness  on  the  plains,  so  that  when  I  reached  Salt 
Lake  I  was  entirely  destitute. 

"'  Take  this  girl,' said  the  Apostle,,' and  see  that  when 
she  goes  from  here  she  carries  nothing  away  which  is  not 
her  own.'  With  these  words  he  left  the  room,  and  the 
women  ordered  me  to  take  off  my  shoes  and  stockings  and 
exchange  my  clothes  for  those  they  brought  me.  While  I 
was  doing  this  they  called  me  the  vilest  names  and  loaded 
me  with  reproaches  and  abuse.  Then  they  took  hold  of  me, 
one  on  each  side  and  led  me  out  of  the  house,  bidding  me 
never  dare  to  show  my  face  there  again. 

"  I  had  eaten  nothing  since  noon  of  the  day  before  and  I 
was  still  weak  from  my  sickness,  but  I  found  no  one  willing 


IN  THE  TOILS.  125 

to  take  me  in  or  give  me  a  morsel  of  bread.  I  was  refused 
food  and  shelter  so  often  that  I  had  no  courage  to  ask  for 
either  again,  and  many  times  during  the  day  I  thought  I 
must  lie  down  in  the  street  and  die.  At  last  I  remembered 
you.  I  heard  your  name  mentioned  often  while  we  were 
crossing  the  plains,  but  never  imagined  it  was  the  friend 
who  used  to  be  so  kind  to  me  when  I  was  a  little  girl. 
After  we  reached  Salt  Lake  I  heard  peo;  \t  talk  of  Brother 
Wallace  and  his  wife,  who  was  not  a  Mormon,  and  to-day  I 
thought  if  1  could  reach  your  door,  you  perhaps,  would  not 
not  turn  me  away." 

"  I  will  not,  my  poor  child,  of  that  you  may  rest  assured; 
but  could  you  not  find  a  single  friend  among  those  who  came 
here  from  your  own  town  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Gray  died  on  the  plains,  and  her  husband  has  taken 
two  wives  since  he  came  to  Salt  Lake.  I  knew  it  would  do 
no  good  to  go  to  him  for  help,  and  the  other  families  that 
came  from  our  place  are  scattered  in  different  parts  of  the 
Territory.  Two  of  them  remained  in  Salt  Lake  I  was  told, 
but  I  could  not  find  them  and  perhaps  they  would  have 
been  like  all  the  the  rest  afraid  to  receive  me," 

"  Well  Bessie,  I  will  try  to  take  the  same  care  of  you  that 
I  would  like  your  mother  to  take  of  my  little  girl,  if  she 
found  her  wandering  in  the  streets,  and  as  I  think  you  need 
rest  now  more  than  anything  else,  I  will  let  Aunt  Eunice 
make  a  bed  for  you  in  her  room,  and  you  must  get  to  sleep 
as  soon  as  you  can.  And  remember,  there  is  One  who  will 
watch  over  you  far  better  than  I  can  if  you  will  ask  him." 

"  Oh  Mrs.  Wallace,  do  you  think  He  would  hear  me  after 
I  have  been  so  wicked  ?  I  have'nt  dared  to  pray  for  a  long 
time.  I  know  I  have  broken  my  father's  heart  and  maybe 
killed  my  poor  mother,  and  it  don't  seem  to  me  as  though 
God  would  ever  forgive  me." 

"Bessie,  if  it  had  been  your  mother's  door  instead  of 


126  IN  THE  TOILS. 

mine  that  you  had  come  to  to-night,  do  you  think  she  would 
have  put  you  out  into  the  storm  again  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  no !  she  would  have  hurried  me  in  by  the  fire 
and  pulled  off  my  wet  clothes,  and  cried  over  me  and  pitied 
me — oh  how  she  would  have  pitied  me  and  loved  me.  Oh 
mother !  mother  !  "  and  with  this  bitter  cry  the  poor  child 
broke  down  and  wept  and  sobbed  with  a  violence  that 
alarmed  her  kind  friend,  who  reproached  herself  for  open 
ing  an  unhealed  wound. 

"  Don't,  Bessie  dear,"  she  said  tenderly,  "  your  mother 
would  not  like  to  see  you  cry  so  and  make  yourself  ill  again. 
I  only  wanted  you  to  remember  that  the  Heavenly  Father 
you  have  been  afraid  to  pray  to  loves  you  a  thousand  times 
better  than  even  your  mother  does.  If  you  will  tell  Him 
all  your  troubles  to-night  and  ask  Him  to  take  care  of  you 
and  comfort  your  father  and  mother,  He  will  hear  you  and 
do  more  than  you  ask.  Come  now,  let  me  see  you  safely  in 
bed  at  once  and  don't  try  to  talk  any  more  until  to 
morrow." 

Bessie  rose  obediently  and  striving  to  check  her  sobs 
followed  Mrs.  Wallace  into  the  room  prepared  for 
her.  For  the  first  time  since  the  unhappy  day  when  she 
fled  from  her  home,  she  laid  her  tired  head  on  a  pillow 
smoothed  by  loving  hands,  and  calmed  and  reassured  by 
the  kindness  of  an  earthly  friend,  ventured  to  pour  all  her 
griefs  into  the  listening  ear  of  the  Friend  above. 

When  morning  dawned  on  the  little  household  the  snow 
was  still  falling,  and  throughout  the  day  the  streets  in  the 
neighborhood  were  deserted,  none  seeming  to  care  to  venture 
abroad  in  the  storm. 

Bessie  looking  pale  and  ill,  but  wearing  an  air  of  greater 
quiet  and  content  than  might  have  been  expected,  sat  in  the 
little  parlor  of  her  kind  entertainer,  answering  questions  with 
regard  to  her  recent  experiences,  and  giving  a  fuller  account 


IN  THE  TOILS.  127 

of  herself  than  she  was  able  to  the  night  before.  She  said 
that  Elder  Harwood  furnished  the  people  in  whose  charge 
he  placed  her  with  money  to  defray  her  expenses  to  Utah, 
and  promised  to  take  her  under  his  own  care  when  he  ar 
rived  in  Salt  Lake,  but  so  far  as  she  could  learn  he  had  not 
returned  yet. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  girl  with  a  shudder,  "  I  never  want 
to  see  him  again.  He  has  deceived  me  cruelly,  tempted  me 
to  forsake  father  and  mother  and  home,  and  if  he  should 
find  me  here  he  would  want  to  take  care  of  me  in  the  same 
way  as  the  man  who  drove  me  out  into  the  storm  to  perish 
yesterday." 

"  You  need  not  see  him  again"  said  Mrs.  Wallace  sooth 
ingly.  "If  he  has  not  crossed  the  plains  yet,  it  is  not  likely 
that  he  will  do  so  before  spring,  and  by  that  time, — who 
knows — you  and  I  may  find  a  way  to  get  back  to  New  York." 

Bessie  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"You  may  get  away  from  here,"  she  said  ;  "  I  will  pray 
every  night  on  my  knees  that  you  may  ;  but  I  will  never  live 
to  see  my  home  again ;  I  am  sure  of  that.  The  most  I 
can  ask  or  hope  for  is  that  after  I  am  dead,  word  may  be 
sent  to  my  parents  in  some  way  to  end  their  suspense  about 
my  fate." 

"Have  you  not  written  to  them  since  you  came  here  ?" 

"I  have  never  been  allowed  to,  and  I  don't  think  that  let 
ters  from  any  persons  who  might  be  suspected  of  sending 
out  an  unfavorable  report  are  ever  permitted  to  leave  the 
Territory.  I  learned  enough  while  in  the  house  in  which  I 
spent  the  last  six  weeks  to  make  me  certain  that  the  mails 
are  very  closely  watched." 

"  In  spite  of  that  watch  however,  we  will  find  some  way 
to  communicate  with  your  friends.  Don't  you  think  they 
must  at  least  suspect  that  you  went  off  with  the  Mor 
mons?  " 


ia8  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  No.  Elder  Harwood's  converts  started  West,  as  I  told 
you,  three  weeks  before  I  did,  and  no  one  else  in  the  place 
knew  that  I  had  ever  attended  a  Mormon  meeting.  Har- 
wood  himself  took  good  care  not  to  be  seen  in  Chesterville 
•after  they  left,  and  I  am  quite  sure  my  meeting  with  him  on 
the  night  train,  that  carried  me  away,  was  not  noticed  by 
any  one;  I  don't  remember  seeing  a  person  that  I  knew  on 
the  street  the  day  I  left,  and  besides,  I  knew  that  father 
and  mother  would  not  begin  to  feel  anxious  about  me  or 
think  of  making  any  inquires  until  the  end  of  the  \veek, 
when  they  would  be  expecting  me  home  from  Aunt  Mary's." 

"  Well  I  do  not  despair  of  being  able  in  some  way,  to  send 
letters  to  them  and  to  my  own  friends  at  home.  I  will 
make  the  trial  at  any  rate,  and  meantime  you  will  be  as  safe 
here  as  under  your  own  mother's  roof." 

Before  night,  Bessie  began  to  show  the  effects  of  the  in 
human  treatment  she  had  received.  The  fever  from  which 
she  had  barely  recovered  when  she  was  turned  out  into  the 
storm,  returned  with  increased  violence,  and  by  noon  of 
the  next  day  she  was  tossing  and  raving  in  wild  delirium. 
Mr.  Wallace  reached  home  a  few  hours  later  and  listened 
with  the  utmost  astonishment  to  the  story  his  wife  had  to 
tell. 

Pretty  little  Bessie  Gordon,  when  a  child,  was  a  great 
favorite  with  him  as  with  Esther,  and  her  parents  were 
counted  among  his  warmest  friends.  He  was  even  more 
severe  than  his  wife  in  his  condemnation  of  the  brutality 
that  had  driven  her  into  the  street  to  die,  and  announced  his 
intention  of  laying  the  whole  matter  before  "  President 
Young"  at  once.  This  however,  Esther  persuaded  him  not 
to  do,  at  least  while  Bessie  lay  sick  and  no  inquiries  were 
made  for  her. 

Two  more  days  passed,  developing  the  most  alarming 
symptoms  in  the  poor  girl's  illness.  Aunt  Eunice  exhaust- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  129 

ed  her  skill  as  a  nurse  in  the  sufferer's  behalf,  and  Wallace 
and  his  wife  tried  every  remedy  of  which  they  had  any 
knowledge,  but  the  fever  continued  unabated  until  the 
ninth  day. 

During  all  this  time  no  inquiries  were  made  as  to  who 
was  lying  sick  in  their  house.  Indeed  the  weather  was  such 
that  very  few  of  their  neighbors  came  to  their  door,  and  if 
Bessie  had  been  tracked  there  they  did  not  know  it. 

Mrs.  Wallace  felt  assured  now  that  her  husband  would 
join  her  in  taking  any  measures  necessary  for  the  girl's 
safety,  but  another  and  greater  power  was  about  to  step  be 
tween  her  and  her  persecutors. 

Death,  the  friend  so  often  feared  as  a  foe,  drew  near  at 
last.  The  fire  that  burned  so  fiercely  in  her  veins  died  out 
and  white  and  wasted  and  weaker  than  an  infant,  but  con 
scious,  Bessie  lay  back  among  her  pillows  waiting  the  hour 
of  her  release.  The  friends  who  had  cared  for  her  so  ten 
derly  stood  around  her,  and  Esther  bent  her  ear  to  catch 
the  last  whispered  word:  "Jesus  saves  sinners — saves  me. — 
Tell  mother." — Here  the  faint,  fluttering  breath  ceased,  and 
the  tired  wanderer  sank  to  rest ;  — a  rest  that  none  might 
break. 

"Good  night !    Now  cometh  quiet  sleep, 
And  tears  that  fall  like  gentle  rain  ; 
Good  night !    Oh  holy,  blest  and  deep, 
The  rest  that  follows  pain." 


IN  THE  TOILS: 

OR 
MARTYRS  OF  THE  LATTER  DAYS. 

PART    II. 


PART  II.— CHAPTER   I. 

AMANDA  JOSEPHINE;  HER  ASPIRATIONS  AND  TRIBULA 
TIONS. — "THE  DEAREST  MOTHER  ON  EARTH." — THE 
HEROISM  OF  DAILY  LIFE. 

"  I  care  not,  Fortune,  what  you  me  deny, 

You  cannot  rob  me  of  free  Nature's  grace, 
You  cannot  shut  the  windows  of  the  sky 

Through  which  Aurora  shows  her  brightening  face." 

The  winter  was  over  and  gone  in  the  Promised  Land. 
March  had  come ;  not  the  stormy  March  of  those  regions 
where  it  is  a  spring  month  only  in  the  almanac,  but  a  time 
of  soft  skies  and  warm  breezes,  of  swelling  buds  and  open 
ing  blossoms. 

There  was  nothing  pale  or  wintry  in  the  sunlight  that 
was  thrown  back  from  the  glittering  peaks  of  the  Wasatch 
to  flood  the  valleys  below.  The  brown  earth,  freshly 
turned  by  the  settler's  plow,  felt  its  warmth  ;  the  birds,  that 
were  building  their  nests  in  the  willows  along  the  streams, 
greeted  it  with  a  chorus  of  cheerful  song,  and  the  shyest  of 
the  early  wild  flowers  crept  out  of  their  hiding  places  into 
the  golden  glow. 

As  far  as  climate  is  concerned,  Utah  surely  has  whereof 
to  boast  and  Esther  Wallace,  leaning  from  her  window  that 
opened  toward  the  sunrise,  and  drinking  in  the  fresh  breath 
of  the  early  morning,  felt  for  a  little  while  almost  in  love 
with  her  new  home. 

The  winter  had    passed  very   quietly   with  our  friends. 


134  IN  THE  TOILS. 

The  Priesthood,  under  whose  ban  Esther,  not  without  rea 
son,  supposed  herself  to  be,  made  no  open  demonstrations 
of  hostility.  Perhaps  they  hoped  in  time  to  convert  her 
and  secure  her  fortune,  which  rumor  exaggerated  to  four 
times  its  real  amount.  At  all  events  she  met  with  corteous 
treatment  from  the  Saints  and,  if  they  persisted  in  urging 
celestial  marriage  upon  her  husband  as  a  present  duty,  she 
did  not  know  it. 

He  on  his  part  appeared  less  absorbed  in  the  mysteries 
of  the  Latter  Day  Gospel  than  during  the  first  months  suc 
ceeding  their  arrival  in  Utah.  After  his  favorite  books 
were  unpacked  and  the  little  sitting-room  made  to  do 
double  duty  as  a  library,  he  spent  much  of  his  time  at  home, 
and  on  stormy  winter  days  when  they  gathered  around  their 
cheerful  fire,  Esther  with  her  sewing,  Winnie  on  a  cushion 
at  her  mother's  feet,  and  the  "  darling  papa  "  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hearth-rug  reading  aloud,  they  presented  a  per 
fect  picture  of  a  happy  and  united  family. 

On  such  days  the  year  that  had  brought  Esther  so  much 
sorrow  appeared  like  a  dream,  and  she  could  almost  fancy 
that  they  were  back  again  in  the  dear  old  home. 

Her  husband  seldom  spoke  of  anything  pertaining  to  his 
religious  experiences,  and  she  sometimes  thought  he  was 
beginning  to  see  how  grossly  he  had  been  deceived  by  the 
"messenger  from  Heaven,"  through  whose  instrumentality 
he  was  led  to  forsake  home  and  friends  for  an  inheritance 
among  the  Saints. 

Elder  Harwood  was  still  East,  and  in  his  absence  Wal 
lace  was  without  a  guide  in  the  tangled  paths  he  was  seek 
ing  to  follow.  Left  to  himself,  it  seemed  possible  that  he 
might  give  up  the  vain  atttempt  to  reconcile  the  teachings 
of  the  new  Gospel  with  his  own  sense  of  right.  Lately, 
however,  the  brethren  around  them  had  begun  to  visit  at 
their  house  more  frequently,  and  there  was  no  lack  of  coun- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  135 

sel  as  to  what  Brother  Wallace   should   and   should  not  do. 

During  the  winter,  Esther  nourished  a  secret  hope  that 
they  might  get  away  from  Utah  before  the  end  of  the  year, 
but  this  she  was  now  forced  to  give  up.  The  project  of 
building  another  house,  of  which  her  husband  said  so  little 
that  she  thought  he  had  abandoned  it,  was  revived  and  on 
the  spring  morning  with  which  this  chapter  opens  workmen 
were  busy  about  the  foundations. 

The  house  was  planned  on  an  ample  scale.  "  Large 
enough  for  a  family  like  mine,"  our  old  friend  Bishop  Wil 
liams  observed,  and  Esther  could  not  help  noticing  that 
this  time  her  husband  failed  to  resent  the  remark  or  treat  it 
as  an  ill-timed  jest.  The  new  building  was  an  object  of 
interest  to  others  besides  Bishop  Williams.  Its  style  and 
dimensions  were  so  far  in  advance  of  those  around  it,  that 
the  good  Saints,  very  like  the  world's  people  in  this  particu 
lar,  conceived  a  sudden  respect  for  the  man  who  could 
afford  such  a  residence. 

Almost  any  day  half  a  dozen  neighbors  of  the  sort  who 
take  a  cheerful  interest  in  other  people's  affairs,  might  be 
seen  leaning  over  the  fence  or  congregated  within  making 
friendly  suggestions  about  the  work. 

It  was  a  noticeable  fact,  however,  that  the  brethren  alone 
had  such  an  amount  of  leisure  to  devote  to  their  neighbors' 
business.  The  sisters  seldom  left  their  own  premises. 
Household  duties  and  the  care  of  their  numerous  children 
occupied  most  of  their  time,  and  the  spring  brought  them 
additional  work,  in  the  shape  of  planting  and  watering  their 
gardens. 

The  Saints,  it  is  well  known,  go  back  to  the  the  good  old 
times  for  their  social  and  domestic  models,  and  as  a  general 
thing  improve  upon  the  copy 

Rebecca  and  Rachel  drawing  water  for  the  flocks  they 
tended,  Ruth  gleaning  in  the  harvest  field,  and  other  pastoral 


136  IN  THE  TOILS. 

pictures  of  those  days,  have  laid  hold  upon  their  imaginations 
and  are  reproduced  by  them  in  Utah,  with  variations  suited 
to  their  circumstances. 

Even  at  this  date  the  traveler  in  the  modern  Zion 
will  be  reminded  of  scenes  he  has  witnessed  in  the  Orient. 
He  will  see  women  herding  catile  and  sheep  on  the  range, 
planting  the  tilled  fields,  digging  ditches  for  the  water  that 
is  to  irrigate  their  crops,  and  later  in  the  season  gathering 
in  the  harvest. 

The  writer  hereof  recollects  one  venerable  patriarch  who 
was  rich  in  flocks  and  herds,  and  blessed  likewise  with  eight 
dutiful  and  affectionate  wives.  In  the  valleys  of  Southern 
Utah  the  grass  is  green  throughout  the  year,  and  through 
summer's  heat  and  winter's  storm  those  eight  loyal  women 
watched  and  tended  their  master's  flocks.  Their's  was  no 
hireling  service.  They  received  no  wages  except  the  con 
sciousness  of  duty  well  performed  and  their  children,  grow 
ing  up  around  them,  were  taught  to  follow  in  their  footsteps. 
No  wonder  the  patriarch's  riches  increased  until  he  became 
the  greatest  man  in  all  those  valleys. 

Another  wealthy  brother,  being  asked  the  reason  of  his 
unusual  prosperity,  made  answer  : 

"  I  married  four  active  strong-armed  Danish  girls  the  first 
year  I  came  here.  My  wives  have  cultivated  my  farm, 
herded  my  stock,  taken  my  grain  and  fruit  to  market,  and 
earned  enough  besides  to  build  my  houses  and  barns." 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  the  Latter  Day  Saints  have 
solved  the  problem  of  cheap  labor  and  defined  the  sphere 
of  woman  at  the  same  time. 

But  to  return  to  our  story. 

As  the  new  building  progressed,  there  was  quite  a  little 
army  of  workmen  to  board,  and  some  one  had  to  be  hired 
to  assist  Aunt  Eunice  in  the  the  kitchen,  but  domestic  help 
proved  a  scarce  commodity  in  Zion. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  137 

The  matrimonial  market  was  brisk,  and  absorbed  most  of 
the  girls  above  the  age  of  fourteen.  There  was  quite  a 
large  number  of  single  women  in  the  train  which  came  in 
the  previous  autumn,  but  most  of  these  were  sealed  to  wait 
ing  Saints  in  different  parts  of  the  Territory,  soon  after  their 
arrival. 

However,  after  a  week  of  failures,  Wallace  came  home  on 
Satuiday  night,  tired,  but  triumphant,  and  announced  that  he 
had  secured  the  services  of  a  sister  Saint  who  was  not  only  an 
embodiment  of  all  the  Christian  graces,  but  a  perfect 
mistress  of  housekeeping  in  all  its  branches. 

Aunt  Eunice  received  the  intelligence  with  a  scornful 
toss  and  sniff.  She  had  had  her  trials  before  now  with 
"white  trash  "  in  the  kitchen,  and  gave  it  as  her  deliberate 
opinion  that : 

"  Gabriel  hisself  could'nt  put  up  with  sich  goins  on." 

After  a  little  questioning,  it  transpired  that  Wallace  had 
not  seen  the  paragon  he  described,  but  Bishop  Williams 
had  engaged  her  for  them  and  assured  him  that  she  would 
be  on  hand  bright  and  early  Monday  morning. 

Monday  came,  but  not  the  model  servant.  Tuesday 
dawned  and  passed  and  Aunt  Eunice,  with  grim  satisfaction 
repeated :  "  Did'nt  I  tole  yer  so?  "  but  Wednesday  brought 
the  long  expected  damsel. 

She  was  short  and  stout,  sandy  haired,  freckled,  and  a 
trifle  cross-eyed,  but  then  beauty  was  not  in  the  bond. 
When  shown  into  the  sitting-room,  she  settled  herself  com 
fortably  in  the  nearest  chair,  deposited  her  band-box  on  the 
carpet  and  began  fanning  herself  with  her  sun-bonnet,  re 
marking,  "  Its  powerful  warm  walkin'." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Wallace.  "Are  you  the 
girl  that  Bishop  Williams  engaged  for  us  ? ' 

"  Yes  sister." 


138  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  Have  you  brought  a  recommendation  from  your  last 
place  ?  " 

"How?" 

"  I  mean,  did  the  lady  you  worked  for  last  send  you  to 
Bishop  Williams  ?  " 

"  No,     I  never  worked  out  before." 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?  " 

"  lowy." 

"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"Amanda  Josephine  Harker." 

"  Well  Amanda,  can  you  cook,  wash,  and  iron?  " 

"  I  reckon." 

"  What  wages,  do  you  expect  ?  " 

"  Well,  Sister  Styles,  she  would'nt  promise  me  more'n  a 
dollar  a  week,  but  Bishop  Williams,  he  said  as  how  you 
folks  up  here  could  afford  to  give  a  dollar  and  a  half.  I 
sp'ose  I  could  'a  married  old  man  Styles  in  a  month,  but 
good  land !  I  don't  want  no  sech  truck  as  him.  He's  sev 
enty  if  he's  a  day,  and  too  stingy  to  give  his  wives  enough 
to  eat." 

"  Not  a  very  kind  husband  certainly,  in  that  case,  but  we 
were  talking  about  wages.  If  I  give  you  a  dollar  and  a  half  a 
week  I  shall  expect  you  to  do  all  the  washing  besides  help 
ing  with  the  cooking  and  keeping  the  kitchen  clean." 

"You  need'nt  be  a  grain  uneasy  sister.  I  calculate  the 
washin'  there  is  about  this  house  won't  be  a  circumstance 
to  what  I've  ben  used  to,  and  as  far  as  keepin'  the  kitchen 
clean,  my  mother  always  said  a  body  might  eat  off  a  floor 
her  girls  had  scrubbed." 

As  Amanda  Josephine  paused  a  moment  to  take  breath, 
the  master  of  the  house  entered  the  room  in  search  of  a 
paper. 

"Why  how  do  you  do,    brother  Wallace?"  exclaimed  the 


IN  THE    TOILS.  139 

young  lady  rising  \vith   alacrity  and  holding   out  a  hand  of 
formidable  proportions. 

Wallace,  considerably  embarrassed  by  the  salutation,  took 
the  offered  hand  mechanically  and  was  rewarded  by  a  grip 
and  shake  that  nearly  dislocated  his  arm.  Esther  smother 
ed  a  laugh  with  difficulty,  while  her  husband,  having  effect 
ed  his  release  from  the  grasp  of  the  gushing  Amanda  and 
found  the  paper  he  came  for,  retreated  in  good  order. 

American  ladies  are  apt  to  complain  that  servants  in  this 
country  never  know  their  place,  but  Mrs.  Brown  of  Fifth 
Avenue  is  at  least  spared  the  consciousness  that  Sarah  Jane 
in  the  kitchen  aspires  to  the  position  of  Mrs.  Brown, 
No.  2. 

Mrs.  Wallace  would  have  risked  the  dread  possibility  of 
such  aspirations  on  the  part  of  Miss  Amanda  Josephine 
Harker,  if  she  could  only  have  been  sure  of  that  amiable 
young  persons  qualifications  as  cook  and  laundress. 

As  it  was,  there  seemed  room  for  doubt,  but  she  must 
have  help  of  some  sort,  and  so  Amanda  was  engaged  for  a 
week  on  trial,  and  duly  installed  in  the  kitchen. 

The  work  expected  of  her  she  said  was,  "  jest  nothin'  at 
all,"  and  from  the  manner  in  which  she  performed  it,  her 
word  seemed  likely  to  be  made  good. 

But  who  meantime  shall  describe  the  tribulations  of  Aunt 
Eunice? 

"  Sure's  you're  born  Miss  Esther,"  she  said  the  next  day 
"  its  gwine  to  to  take  more'n  Massa  Job's  patience,  to  put 
up  with  dat  ar"  'Mandy.  Dis  morin'  I  wor  'bleeged  to  go 
fur  de  meat  de  berry  fust  thing  so  I  had  to  trust  'Mandy 
with  the  dishes,  I  tole  her  an'  showed  her  pertikler  'bout 
everthing  an'  when  I  come  home  ef  dat  critter  warn't  a 
•vrashin'  de  chany  cups  in  de  hand-basin  an'  a  dryin'  em  on 
her  dirty  apron,  an'  when  I  axed  her  whar  she  wor  brung 
up  that  she  did'nt  know  no  better,  che  jest  answers  as  bold 


140  IN  THE  TOILS. 

as  brass,  "Hity-tity!  Tears  to  me  some  folks  is  more  nice 
than  wise." 

"Well  Auntie  \ve  must  be  patient  with  her  this  week; 
Perhaps  you  had  better  set  her  to  scrubbing  the  floor.  She 
seems  strong  enough  to  do  that  well." 

Aunt  Eunice  did  as  requested,  and  the  scrubbing  seemed 
more  in  Miss  Amanda's  line,  but  she  had  a  soul  above  drud 
gery,  and  aspired  to  something  that  would  afford  a  better 
field  for  the  display  of  her  talents.  She  wanted  to  show 
"  Sister  Wallace"  that  she  could  get  up  a  better  dinner  than 
any  she  had  ever  eaten,  but  no  opportunity  for  carrying  out 
her  wish  occured  until  Saturday,  when  Aunt  Eunice  was 
laid  up  with  a  sick  headache,  into  which  she  had  been  fairly 
worried  by  the  trials  of  the  week. 

Mrs.  Wallace  had  some  misgivings  about  the  dinner,  and 
remained  in  the  kitchen  herself  superintending  and  helping 
until  the  vegetables  were  prepared  and  the  meat  was  in  the 
oven. 

An  hour  later  when  she  opened  the  kitchen  door  to  see 
how  Amanda  was  getting  on,  she  was  assailed  by  a  powerful 
odor  of  burning  meat.  The  stove  was  red  hot  the  room 
full  of  smoke,  and  no  one  in  sight.  She  drew  the  roast 
from  the  oven,  a  blackened  coal,  and  after  opening  the  win 
dows  went  in  search  of  her  handmaiden,  whom  she  found 
leaning  over  the  railing  of  the  back  porch  singing: 

"I  never  knew  what  joy  was, 
Till  I  became  a  Mormon/' 

"Amanda,"  she  called  a  little  sharply,  "  why  don't  you 
stay  in  the  kitchen  and  attend  to  your  cooking?  The 
meat  is  all  burned  up  and  the  dinner  spoiled." 

The  fair  Miss  Harker  left  her  post  at  this  summons  and 
returned  leisurely  to  the  kitchen. 

"Where  are  your  vegetables  Amanda?"  was  the  next 
question.  "  I  don't  see  them  on  the  stove." 


IN    THE  TOILS.  141 

"Well  now  if  I  hain't  forgot  to  put  'em  over.  Here  they 
are  in  the  pantry;  who'd  a  thought  though  that  the  meat 
would  burn  so  quick." 

It  was  late  when  the  dinner  finally  appeared  on  the  table, 
but  it  looked  well  enough,  and  the  tried  and  worried  house 
keeper  hoped  it  might  be  eatable. 

Grace  was  said,  the  coffee  poured  and  Mr.  Wallace 
raised  his  cup  to  his  lips  but  set  it  down  again  in  haste. 

"What  is  the  matter  my  dear?"  his  wife  asked  a  little 
apprehensively. 

"This  coffee  is  sweetened  with  salt,  or  else  it  was  made 
with  water  from  the  lake." 

"I  scalded  the  coffee-pot  and  put  in  the  coffee  myself 
but  perhaps  our  Amanda  has  added  something  at  the  sug 
gestion  of  her  own  genius.  I  will  go  and  see." 

An  examination  of  the  coffee-pot  •  showed  it  to  be  half 
filled  with  some  foreign  substance. 

"What  have  you  put  in  here  Amanda?"  asked  her  mis 
tress. 

"Nothin' but  some  fish  to  settle  the  coffee.  Did'nt  you 
tell  me  to?" 

And  thereupon  Miss  Harker  drew  from  the  pot  a 
piece  of  dried  codfish  the  size  of  one  of  her  own  deli 
cate  hands. 

"  You  will  have  to  keep  the  word  of  wisdom,  and  drink 
water  to-day,"  Mrs.  Wallace  said  as  she  took  her  place  at 
the  table,  "  Amanda  has  improved  upon  my  instructions  a 
little,  and  settled  the  coffee  with  half  a  codfish  " 

The  next  morning,  to  the  great  relief  of  the  suffering 
household,  Aunt  Eunice  was  able  to  return  to  the  kitchen, 
and  they  all  ate  and  drank  without  fear ;  but  Monday  brought 
fresh  trials.  Miss  Harker,  at  her  own  request,  was  stationed 
at  the  wash-tub  and  the  manner  in  which  she  rubbed  out  the 
clothes,  certainly  did  credit  to  her  muscular  development, 


142  IN  THE  TOILS. 

but  before  noon,  Aunt  Eunice  made  her  appearance  in  the 
sitting-room  with  evil  tidings  written  on  her  face. 

"  My  heart's  jest  broke  Miss  Esther,"  she  said.  "All  de 
white  cloes  in  the  wash  is  clean  ruined.  I  left  em  in  de 
rense  water  so'st  I  could  go  an'  hang  up  de  flannels,  tellin 
dat  'Mandy  not  to  tech  em  'em  an'  and  what  does  she  do 
but  go  an'  empty  all  de  bluein'  in  de  box  on  'em.  Ef  she 
don't  go  'fore  long,  dere  won't  be  nuffin  left  in  dis  house." 

Mrs.  Wallace  administered  what  consolation  she  could 
and  again  counselled  patience,  as  there  remained  only  one 
more  day  of  the  week  of  trial. 

On  Tuesday  evening  she  called  Amanda  into  the  sitting- 
room,  and  after  paying  her  a  week's  wages  told  her  she 
might  go  the  next  day,  as  they  would  not  need  her  any 
longer. 

Miss  Harker's  face  reddened  till  it  rivalled  her  hair,  and 
her  voice  took  an  unusually  high  key  as  she  demanded  to 
see  Brother  Wallace. 

"  He  is  not  at  home.  Had  you  anything  particular  to 
say  to  him?  " 

"  Pertickiler!  I  should  think  so!  It  was  him  that  sent  for 
me  and  sent  for  me  to  stay.  My  mother  did'nt  bring  up  her 
girls  to  work  out,  and  I  would'nt  a  demeaned  myself  to  slave 
in  your  kitchen  for  no  dollar  and  a  half  a  week  if  Brother 
Williams  had'nt  told  me  that  Brother  Wallace  was  a  lookin' 
for  a  second  wife  and  I  was  the  one  he  was  a  lookin'  for. 
A  nice  thing  it  would  be  to  send  me  off  when  he's  away  ; 
but  I  don't  go,  not  till  I  see  him." 

"  Miss  Harker,"  said  Esther  in  the  blandest  manner,  u  if 
you  wish  to  speak  to  my  husband  about  marrying  him,  I 
have'nt  the  least  objection,  but  if  that  was  his  object  in 
sending  for  you,  he  will  certainly  call  on  you  at  your  own 
home,  and  I  must  really  insist  upon  your  going  there  to- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  143 

night  instead  of  to-morrow.  The  evening  is  pleasant  and 
it  is  not  far  to  walk." 

Amanda,  seeing  that  her  late  mistress  was  quite  in  earnest, 
abandoned  the  strong  position  she  had  taken,  and  after  a 
few  sulky  mutterings  gathered  up  her  worldly  effects  and 
departed.  She  had  not  been  gone  half  an  hour,  when  Wal 
lace  returned. 

Esther,  with  as  much  gravity  as  she  could  command  un 
der  the  circumstances,  related  her  final  interview  with  the 
damsel  who  proposed  to  bestow  on  him  the  boon  of  her  fair 
hand. 

"  It  was  too  bad  of  Bishop  Williams  to  make  the  whole 
family  the  victims  of  his  practical  joke,"  said  Wallace, 
laughing  a  little  but  coloring  and  looking  annoyed.  "He 
ought  to  be  obliged  to  eat  of  the  young  woman's  cooking 
and  to  replace  the  articles  she  has  broken  and  destroyed." 

"  Well,"  returned  Esther  "  we  will  have  to  pass  by  the 
offense  I  suppose,  after  the  manner  of  the  good  boy  who 
always  forgave  his  school-fellows  for  striking  him  if  they 
were  bigger  than  he  was.  And  now  arises  the  question, 
what  is  to  be  done  next?  Aunt  Eunice  won't  take  any 
more  'white  trash'  under  her  wing  ; — that  is  settled — and 
the  hard  fact  remains  that  there  is  only  one  pair  of  hands 
to  do  the  work  of  two." 

"I'm  sure  /  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  exhausted  my 
resources  before." 

Wallace  was  about  as  helpful  in  domestic  emergencies  as 
men  generally  are,  and  having  disposed  of  his  own  respon 
sibility  in  the  matter  with  this  final  remark,  he  took  his  hat 
and  went  out  to  look  after  his  horses. 

"  I've  half  a  mind  to  let  them  all  go  without  dinner  to 
morrow,"  was  Esther's  first  thought  in  her  vexation,  but 
better  counsel  prevailed  and  after  sleeping  over  the  matter 
she  decided  to  start  out  herself  in  search  of  help. 


144  IN  THE  TOILS. 

Her  first  call  was  on  Mrs.  Nye.  Her  neighbor  laughed 
heartily  over  the  history  of  her  experience  with  Amanda 
Josephine. 

"The  young  lady  is  no  stranger  to  me,"  she  said,  "we 
hired  her  for  a  little  while  when  I  was  sick  last  summer, 
but  she  left  in  disgust  at  the  end  of  the  second  week 
because  Mr.  Nye  did  not  propose  to  her." 

"She  told  me  she  had  never  worked  out  before.' 

"Very  likely.  Amanda  has  her  dignity  to  maintain,  and 
won't  compromise  herself  by  the  admission  that  she  is  or 
has  been  a  servant,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  it  will  be 
useless  to  look  for  help  of  a  different  type  here.  Miss 
Harker  is  a  fair  specimen  of  the  unmarried  girls  remaining 
in  Salt  Lake." 

"  I  did  not  think  of  trying  to  get  another  girl  in  the  house. 
If  I  can  only  find  some  one  to  do  my  washing  and  ironing, 
Aunt  Eunice  and  I  can  manage  the  rest." 

Mrs.  Nye,  after  reflecting  a  few  minutes  said  :  "  I  think  1 
know  just  the  person  you  want;  that  is  if  you  can  send  your 
work  to  her.  She  could  not  leave  her  children  to  come  to 
you." 

"  It  will  suit  me  just  as  well  to  have  her  do  the  work  at 
her  own  house,  and  if  you  will  tell  me  where  to  find  her  I 
will  engage  her  at  once;  or  perhaps  you  can  go  with  me." 

"  I  cannot  leave  home  this  morning  very  well,  but  I  can 
give* you  such  directions  that  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in 
finding  the  place." 

"  Mrs.  Eustace  St.  Clair,  corner  of  South  Temple  and 
Tenth  streets." 

Esther  read  aloud  the  address  Mrs  Nye  had  written 
down,  adding  : 

"  Rather  a  grand  name  for  a  washerwoman,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"When  she  took  that   name  she   little  dreamed  what  her 


IN    THE  TOILS.  145 

Aiture  would  be,"  was  the  answer;  "Mrs.  St.  Clair  is  the 
wife  of  one  of  the  richest  men  here,  but  because  she  refuses 
to  share  his  heart  and  home  with  wife  No.  2  she  is  banished 
to  a  log  cabin  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  left  to  sup 
port  herself  and  her  children  in  any  way  she  can." 

"  Why  does  she  submit  to  such  treatment  ?  If  her  hus 
band  has  property,  he  can  surely  be  compelled  to  support 
his  family." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Wallace,  who  or  what  is  to  compel  him  ? 
As  I  told  you  before,  there  is  no  law  here  except  the  will  of 
Brigham  Young,  and  it  is  his  will  that  a  wife  who  rebels 
against  her  husband's  plural  marriages  shall  be  severely 
punished." 

"A  pleasant  state  of  affairs  truly  for  wives.  I  had  sup 
posed  Utah  to  be  within  the  limits  of  the  United  States." 

"  So  we  all  supposed  when  we  came  here,  but  the  attitude 
of  the  Government  toward  us  don't  seem  to  bear  out  the 
supposition.  We  might  as  well  be  subjects  of  the  King  ot 
Dahomy,  so  far  as  the  protection  of  our  rights  or  the 
redress  of  our  wrongs  are  concerned." 

"The  women,  you  mean." 

"Well  yes,  I  was  thinking  of  the  women  when  I  spoke, 
but  when  it  comes  to  a  conflict  with  the  ruling  power,  the 
same  remark  applies  to  the  men.  Let  your  husband  or 
mine  dare  to  disobey  counsel,  and  he  would  soon  find  that 
the  laws  of  the  United  States  afforded  him  no  protection  ; 
but  for  my  part  I  don't  waste  much  pity  on  the  men.  They 
come  here  of  their  own  free  will,  and  most  of  them  with  a 
full  understanding  of  what  they  call  the  principles  of  Mor- 
monism,  and  as  they  have  sown,  so  let  them  reap." 

Esther  could   have   found  it    in    her   heart  to    respond 
Amen,  had  not  her  own  husband  been  among  the  number  of 
those  who  made  this  voluntary  surrender  of  their  liberties. 
She  would   have  liked  to  learn  a  little  more  definitely  what 


]^6  IN  THE  TOILS. 

Mrs.  Nye  thought  would  bexthe  consequence  to  him  of 
disobeying  counsel,  but  she  shrank  from  asking  directly, 
and  as  it  was  growing  late  she  bade  her  neighbor  good 
morning,  and  started  out  to  find  Mrs.  Eustace  St.  Clair. 

It  was  a  long  walk,  quite  to  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  as 
Mrs.  Nye  had  said,  but  the  weather  and  the  scenery  were 
delightful  enough  to  make  her  wish  it  still  longer.  Salt 
Lake  valley,  under  those  soft  skies  and  bathed  in  the  bright 
sunshine  of  Spring,  look  fair  and  placid  enough  to  be  the 
very  home  of  peace  and  good  will  to  men.  The  cottages 
she  passed  were  half  hidden  in  blossoming  trees,  and 
farther  on  • 

"  Mountain  grasses  low  and  sweet, 
Grew  in  the  middle  of  every  street." 

There  might  be  crushed  hopes  and  blighted  lives  in  the 
homes  behind  the  flowery  screen  that  bordered  either  side  of 
the  way,  but  no  sob  of  grief  or  cry  of  pain  troubled  the 
fragrant  air.  It  was  difficult  to  imagine  such  a  tragedy  as 
the  one  of  which  she  had  just  heard,  in  the  midst  of  scenes 
so  fair  and  peaceful ;  difficult  to  believe  the  beautiful  city  of 
the  Saints,  as  it  lay  before  her  eyes,  the  theater  of  such 
crimes  against  God  and  humanity. 

But  even  while  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  her 
mind,  she  came  in  sight  of  the  home  of  the  betrayed  and 
deserted  wife. 

It  was  a  cabin,  nothing  more;  with  walls  of  unhewed  logs, 
a  slab  roof,  a  door  of  rough,  unpainted  boards,  and  but 
four  squares  of  glass  in  the  single  window  that  lighted  the 
interior. 

Plainly,  the  house  was  the  abode  of  poverty  as  well  as  of 
sorrow,  but  rude  as  it  was  there  was  nothing  repulsive  in 
the  aspect  of  the  place.  On  either  side  of  the  door,  climb 
ing  vines  were  trained  over  the  rough  logs,  a  few  flowers 
blossomed  in  a  box  under  the  window,  and  the  tiny  grass 


IN  THE  TOILS.  147 

plot  between  the  door  and  the  road-side  was  free  from  the 
slightest  speck  of  litter. 

Two  little  boys,  rosy  and  bright-eyed  enough  to  make 
amends  for  their  patched  clothing,  were  playing  near  the 
house.  They  drew  back  shyly  at  the  sight  of  a  stranger,  but 
when  she  spoke  to  them,  both  caps  were  taken  off  in  a 
moment.  "  Their  mother  is  a  lady,  that  is  certain,"  was 
Esther's  mental  comment.  Then  she  asked: 
"  Does  Mrs.  St.  Clair  live  here  ?  " 

"  Yes  ma'am,"  said  the  one  who  constituted  himself 
spokesman,  "  She  is  our  mother,  but  she  is  not  at  home  just 
now." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  her.  Do  you  think  she  will  be  gone 
long  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  but  Robbie  can  tell.  Please  wait  a  min 
ute  till  I  go  in  and  see  if  Robbie  is  awake." 

Opening  the  door  softly,  the  little  fellow  tip-toed  into  the 
room  and  came  out  again  directly,  saying : 

"  Robbie  thinks  mamma  will  be  home  in  an  hour,  and 
says  will  you  please  come  in." 

Entering  in  response  to  this  invitation,  Mrs.  Wallace  was 
greeted  by  a  faint,  but  very  sweet  voice,  saying : 

"  I  am  sorry  my  mother  is  not  at  home.  Will  you  sit 
down  and  wait  for  her  ?  " 

Looking  atyout  for  the  owner  of  the  voice  (for  at  first 
sight  the  room  appeared  empty),  she  perceived  a  small, 
curtained  bed  in  the  farther  corner,  and  as  she  crossed  the 
floor,  a  white,  wasted  hand  put  aside  the  curtains,  and  dis 
closed  to  view  the  face  of  a  boy  perhaps  fifteen  years  old, 
who  was  sitting  up  in  the  bed  supported  by  pillows. 

It  was  a  very  pale  face,  with  thin  cheeks,  hollow  temples, 
and  a  look  of  patient  suffering  in  the  large  blue  eyes  that 
spoke  of  weary  days  and  nights  of  pain. 


148  IN  THE  TOILS. 

A  pair  of  crutches,  resting  against  the  pillows,  told  the 
remainder  of  the  story. 

"  The  poor  mother !  "  thought  Esther,  her  own  heart 
deeply  touched,  "  She  has  this  sorrow  too,  to  bear." 

She  seated  herself  beside  the  bed,  and  taking  one  of  the 
thin  hands  tenderly  in  her  own  said : 

"  I  would  not  have  disturbed  you  if  I  had  known  you 
were  sick.  Your  little  brother  said  you  were  sleeping  just 
now." 

"  No.  Mamma  told  me  when  she  went  away  I  must  try 
and  sleep,  because  I  had  such  a  bad  night,  but  I  could  not, 
though  the  pain  was  nearly  gone." 

"  Poor  boy !  You  suffer  very  much  then  ?  " 

"Sometimes  I  do,  but  there  are  days  when  I  am  very 
comfortable.  The  nights  are  the  worst." 

Then  seeing  Mrs  Wallace  glance  toward  the  crutches,  he 
added: 

"  Yes,  I  am  a  cripple.  I  have  never  walked  since  we 
came  to  Salt  Lake,  but  on  my  good  days,  as  I  call  them,  I 
can  move  about  the  room  very  well," 

"  You  were  lame  then  when  you  came  here  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  was  hurt  when  we  were  crossing  the  plains. 
Mother  said  if  I  had  been  where  I  could  have  had  a  doctor 
and  good  care,  I  would  be  well  now,  but  God  would'nt 
have  let  me  get  hurt  there,  if  it  was'nt  best,  for  me  to  be 
lame." 

"Do  you  think  it  is  better  for  you  to  lie  here  and  suffer 
than  to  be  well  and  strong?" 

"It  must  be,  because  God  is  our  father,  and  He  gives  us 
what  is  best  for  us  if  we  love  Him." 

"Who  taught  you  that  ?" 

"My  mother.  When  I  was  quite  a  little  boy,  I  was  sick 
and  had  to  take  very  bitter  medicine.  I  begged  mamma  to 
give  me  something  that  did  not  taste  so  bad,  but  she  said 


IN  THE  TOILS.  149 

'my  son,  the  bitter  medicine  is  the  best,'  and  afterwards 
when  she  talked  to  me  about  how  much  God  loved  us,  she 
said  He  gave  us  sickness  and  trouble  because  he  loved  us, 
just  as  she  gave  me  bitter  medicine." 

His  listeners  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  made  answer: 

'  That  is  a  very  beautiful  faith,  my  dear  boy,  but  some  of 
us,  when  trouble  is  heavy  forget  that  it  is  sent  in  love." 

"And  that  makes  it  a  great  deal  harder  to  bear;"  Robbie 
added,  "  I  know  for  I  don't  always  remember.  Lately  I 
have  suffered  more  because" — a  faint  color  straining  his 
pale  cheeks — "because  we  are  very  poor  now,  and  mother 
can't  always  get  the  medicine  I  need,  and  when  I  have 
nothing  to  quiet  the  pain,  I  often  lie  awake  whole  nights, 
and  the  nights  are  so  long.  It  seems  as  though  morning 
would  never  come,  and  I  forget  that  God  loves  me." 

Then  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  he  said  earnestly: 

"You  won't  tell  mother  what  I  have  said  will  you?  I  try 
to  make  her  think  I  can  do  without  the  medicine,  and  it 
would  break  her  heart  if  she  knew  how  much  I  want  it.  I 
keep  very  still  nights  so  she  will  not  find  out  that  I  am 
awake." 

•'No,  my  poor  child,  I  will  not  tell  your  mother,"  Esther 
answered  deeply  moved  "  I  have  a  little  girl  of  my  own  at 
home,  and  I  know  how  mothers  feel  when  their  children 
suffer."  • 

"And  my  mother  cares  so  much  more  for  us  than  she 
does  for  herself.  She  is  the  dearest  mother  in  the  world. 
Oh  you  don't  know  how  good." 

Robbie  and  his  guest  were  so   absorbed  in   conversation, 
that  neither  heard  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps,  un 
til  a  shadow  darkened  the  doorway,  and  Esther,  looking  up. 
saw  a  tall,   shabbily  dressed  woman    standing  on  the  thres 
hold. 

"Oh  mother!  "     Exclaimed  Robbie  "  I   am    so  glad  you 


150  IN  THE  TOILS. 

have  come.     Here  is  a  lady  who  has  been  waiting  a  good 
while  to  see  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting."  Mrs.  St. 
Clair  said,  turning  towards  her  visitor,  "  I  seldom  leave 
home,  but  this  morning  I  was  compelled  to  go  to  an 
other  part  of  the  town,  and  have  been  absent  much  longer 
than  I  intended." 

She  spoke  in  a  musical,  richly  modulated  voice,  but  with 
a  slightly  foreign  accent.  Her  bearing  was  graceful  and 
dignified,  and  her  language  and  manners  alike  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  rude  cabin  that  was  her  home.  In  age 
she  might  have  been  between  thirty-five  and  forty.  Her 
face  bore  traces  of  rare  beauty,  but  its  bloom  had  faded, 
and  there  were  deep  lines  of  care  in  her  forehead.  The 
eyes  were  beautiful  still,  and  of  the  deepest,  darkest  blue 
like  her  boy's. 

There  was  a  look  in  their  depths,  like  that  of  one  who 
has  done  with  life  and  hope ;  but  when  her  glance  rested 
upon  the  patient  sufferer  on  the  low  bed,  a  smile  of  unutter 
able  tenderness  lighted  up  the  sad  eyes,  and  transfigured 
the  whole  face.  She  might  have  said  with  poor  Marion 
Earl: 

I'm  dead,  you  see  and  if, 

The  mother  in  me  has  survived  the  rest, 

Why,  that's  God's  miracle. 

Men  talk  of  the  courage  needed  to  face  death  ;  it  is 
nothing  compared  with  the  courage  needed  to  face  life 
sometimes. 

Beside  the  life  that  this  woman  had  taken  up  and  dared  to 
live  for  her  children's  sake,  the  rock  of  the  Inquisition  was 
a  bed  of  roses,  and  yet  we  think  and  speak  as  though  they 
who  embraced  the  fagot  and  the  stake,  and  went  through 
fire  up  to  God,  were  the  only  martyrs. 

Some  such  thoughts  passed  through  Esther's  mind,  as  she 


IN  THE  TOILS.  151 

studied  the  mother's  face  while  she  bent  over  her  boy  and 
talked  to  him  in  low  caressing  tones.  There  was  such  a 
depth  and  intensity  of  love  in  every  look  and  word,  such  a 
resolute  putting  aside  of  self  and  of  her  own  sorrows,  that 
she  might  minister  to  her  suffering  child,  no  wonder  that 
Robbie  thought  her  the  best  mother  on  on  earth. 

Esther  had  come  to  the  place  prepared  to  pity  the  desert 
ed  wife.  She  now  felt  more  disposed  to  reverence  the 
mother  who  showed  so  much  of  "Love's  divine  self-abne 
gation." 

The  morning  was  passing,  and  she  had  not  spoken  of  the 
business  that  brought  her  there. 

If,  as  Mrs.  Nye  said,  Mrs.  St.  Clair  was  compelled  to  earn 
her  own  and  her  children's  bread  as  best  she  could,  the  pro 
posal  she  had  to  make  might  be  very  acceptable.  Robbie 
admitted  that  they  were  very  poor  now,  and  every  thing  in 
and  about  the  house  bore  witness  to  the  fact. 

The  single  room,  with  its  bare  floor  and  scant  furniture, 
though  as  neat  and  orderly  as  hands  could  make  it,  was 
cheerless  enough.  The  little  boys  playing  outside  were 
barefoot,  and  the  mother's  dress  of  faded  cotton  was  sadly 
worn. 

Esther  longed  to  help  them  out  of  her  abundance,  but  she 
could  not  offer  alms  to  this  refined  and  cultivated  woman,  who 
was  in  all  respects  her  equal.  Work,  however,  she  could 
offer. 

Too  thoroughly  sensible  herself  to  be  ashamed  of  any 
honest  employment,  she  judged  rightly  that  Mrs.  St.  Clair 
would  be  glad  to  do  anything  that  would  bring  food  to  her 
children. 

When  she  told  her  errand,  and  added  to  the  liberal  price 
she  named  the  stipulation  that  all  the  work  should  be  done 
by  Mrs.  St.  Clair  at  home,  there  was  a  sudden  light  in  Rob 
bie's  eyes  which  was  reflected  on  his  mother's  face,  and  her 


152  IN  THE  TOILS. 

offer  was  accepted  with  an  eagerness  that  showed  painfully 
how  great  their  necessities  were. 

Before  she  left,  with  a  thoughtfulness  and  delicacy  which 
did  credit  alike  to  her  head  and  heart,  she  insisted  upon 
paying  for  the  first  week's  work  in  advance,  on  the  plea  that 
it  would  be  safer  to  give  the  money  to  Mrs.  St.  Clair  her 
self,  than  to  trust  it  to  the  boy  who  would  bring  the  clothes. 

If  she  had  known  that  there  was  not  a  morsel  of  food  in  the 
poor  cabin  for  the  children,  and  that  the  mother's  long  walk 
that  morning  was  undertaken  in  the  vain  hope  of  getting  a 
few  pounds  of  flour  from  a  rich  Saint  who  owed  her  for 
work,  she  would  have  been  still  more  grateful  for  the  Provi 
dence  which  led  her  steps  thither;  for  Esther  Wallace,  good? 
true  and  noble  woman,  and  better  still  earnest  disciple  of 
Him  who  went  about  doing  good,  counted  it  far  more 
blessed  to  give  than  to  receive. 

And  could  she  have  looked  into  the  cabin  a  few  minutes 
after  the  door  closed  behind  her,  and  have  seen  the  mother 
on  her  knees  at  Robbie's  bedside,  giving  thanks  that  her 
children  were  spared  another  day  of  hunger,  she  would  have 
been  a  thousand  times  repaid. 


PART  II.— CHAPTER  n. 

THERESA    ST.    CLAIR. — THE    STORY    OF     HER    LIFE. 
To  weary  hearts,  to  mourning  homes, 
God's  meekest  angel  gently  comes. 
No  power  has  he  to  banish  pain, 
Or  give  us  back  our  lost  again, 
And  yet  in  tenderest  love,  our  dear 
And  Heavenly  Father  sends  Him  here. 

—  Whittier. 

The  lessons  of  that  one  morning  were  worth  a  thousand 
homilies  on  patience  and  resignation. 

All  that  day,  and  for  many  days  afterward,  Esther's  mind 
was  filled  with  the  image  of  the  pale  boy,  bearing  the  sharp 
est  pain  in  silence  through  the  long  hours  of  the  night,  that 
the  knowledge  of  his  sufferings  might  not  be  added  to  his 
mother's  burdens,  and  the  heroic  mother,  hiding  her  crushed 
heart  and  blighted  hopes  from  her  children,  and  draining 
the  bitter  cup  held  to  her  lips  with  a  smile  for  their  sake. 

As  she  contemplated  this  picture,  her  own  trials  dwindled 
into  insignificance  and  she  wondered  that  she  had  even 
murmured  at  her  lot. 

Her  husband  was  still  all  her  own,  her  child  healthy  and 
happy,  and  they  were  surrounded  with  every  comfort  that 
wealth  could  bestow. 

To  her,  as  to  most  persons  born  and  reared  in  luxury, 
poverty  alone  would  have  been  a  very  sore  trial ;  and  here 
was  a  woman  as  delicately  nurtured  as  herself,  earning  scant 


i54  IN  THE  TOILS. 

food  and  clothing  for  her  children  by  the  coarsest  and  hard 
est  labor,  and  when  work  and  wages  failed,  forced  to  see  her 
sick  boy  suffer  unrelieved,  and  her  little  ones  want  bread. 

"But  they  shall  not  want  again,"  was  Esther's  mental  re 
solve  when  she  reached  home,  that  morning,  nor  did  they 
while  it  was  in  her  power  to  help  them. 

Mrs.  St.  Clair  was  skilled  in  embroidery  and  fine  needle 
work,  and  .her  new  friend  added  employment  of  this  sort  to 
that  already  furnished,  and  insisted  on  fixing  the  price  her 
self,  which  she  did  at  such  liberal  figures  that  not  only  the 
necessaries  of  life,  but  comforts  to  which  they  had  long  been 
strangers  found  their  way  to  the  inmates  of  the  log  cabin. 
Besides  this  on  all  her  visits,  she  carried  some  delicacy  to 
the  sick  boy  and  smilingly  claiming  to  be  a  better  doctor 
than  any  one  else  in  Salt  Lake.  She  searched  the  medicine 
case  she  brought  from  the  States  for  remedies  for  him,  and 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  improve  under  her  treat 
ment.  Robbie's  gratitude  and  admiration  were  unbounded. 
In  his  eyes  Mrs.  Wallace  was  second  only  to  his  mother,  and 
the  cordial  of  her  kind  words  and  ready  sympathy  helped 
him  as  much  as  the  medicine  she  brought. 

Mrs.  6t.  Clair  too  found  herself  looking  forward  almost 
as  anxiously  as  Robbie  to  the  days  on  which  Esther  was 
expected,  and  little  by  little  she  began  to  speak  of  herself 
and  her  life  in  Utah. 

She  had  lived  in  Salt  Lake  seven  years,  and  four  years 
out  of  the  seven,  her  home  had  been  in  the  cabin  in  which 
her  friend  found  her,  with  sickness  and  want  for  daily  guests' 

Death,  too,  had  been  there,  and  taken  the  youngest  of 
the  flock  to  a  home  where  "  they  hunger  no  more,  neither 
thirst  any  more,  neither  is  there  any  more  pain." 

There  were  three  children  remaining:  Robbie  and  the 
two  little  boys,  twins,  about  eight  years  old,  and  for  their 
sakes  the  mother  found  strength  to  live  and  suffer. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  155 

"  Death  would  be  such  a  boon,"  she  said  in  one  of  her 
talks  with  Esther,  "  but  my  children  have  no  one  but  me, 
and  for  their  sakes  I  pray  to  live.  I  would  pray  the  same 
if  life  were  tenfold  more  bitter.  I  tremble  to  think  I  may 
be  taken  from  them,  or,  worse  still,  they  may  be  taken  from 
me." 

"  If  the  dear  heavenly  Father  takes  them,"  Esther  an 
swered  gently,  ''  it  will  be  well  with  them.  He  took  my 
baby  from  my  arms  to  His  own,  and,  bitter  as  the  parting 
was,  I  would  not  call  it  back." 

'  No  more  would  I.  Three  of  my  little  ones  have  gone 
to  God,  and  I  thank  him  every  day  that  they  are  safely 
housed  from  such  storms  as  have  beat  upon  me.  If  he 
should  call  for  my  children  that  remain,  I  would  give  them 
up  into  His  hands  without  a  murmur.  That  is  not  what  I 
fear,  but  whenever  I  do  anything  against  counsel  I  am 
threatened  with  separation  from  my  children  by  those  who 
have  the  will  and  the  power  to  carry  out  the  threat. 

"  I  may  be  allowed  to  keep  my  little  boys,  but  I  have 
good  reasons  to  fear  that  Robbie  will  be  taken  from  me  be 
fore  long.  He  will  have  a  small  fortune  in  his  own  right 
when  he  comes  of  age — twenty  thousand  doilars  left  him, 
by  his  uncle.  As  this  money  is  in  the  hands  of  trustees  back 
in  our  old  home,  it  is  out  of  the  reach  of  the  grasping  priest 
hood  just  now,  but  they  mean  to  have  it  all  in  the  end.  As 
soon  as  Robbie  is  twenty-one  they  think  they  can  force  him 
to  sign  an  instrument  conveying  the  property  to  his  father 
or  to  the  church,  and  they  want  him  in  their  power  before 
the  time  arrives." 

"  I  would  not  distress  myself  about  that  now,  if  I  were 
you,"  said  Esther.  "  The  evil  day  is  far  off,  and  may  never 
come  at  all.  Robbie  is  only  a  child,  and  much  may  happen 
before  he  is  twenty-one." 

"  He  is  a   great  deal  older  than   he  looks.       He  will  be 


156  IK  THE  TOILS. 

seventeen  in  June,  and  I  can  hardly  hope  they  will  let  me 
keep  him  two  years  longer;  but  I  won't  think  of  it.  I  can't 
think  of  it  and  keep  my  reason.  My  poor,  patient  boy,  who 
has  suffered  so  much,  to  fall  into  such  cruel  hands  at  last !  " 
Her  eyes  were  bright  and  tearless  now,  and  there  was  a 
hard,  determined  look  on  her  face — a  look  that  Esther  had 
never  seen  there  before. 

"  I  have  borne  all  things,  forgiven  all  things,  as  I  trust  my 
God  forgives  me,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not  love  the  man  whose 
name  I  bear.  The  Eustace  St.  Clair  I  loved  once,  the  hus 
band  of  my  youth,  the  father  of  my  children,  died  long  ago. 
The  Eustace  St.  Clair  of  to-day,  false,  treacherous  and  cruel, 
an  adulterer,  and  in  heart  a  murderer,  is  nothing  to  me,  but 
if  I  do  not  love  him,  neither  do  I  hate  him.  I  have  prayed 
'that  mercy  and  not  vengeance  might  overtake  him.  but  if  he 
takes  my  suffering  boy  from  me,  to  be  tortured  as  I  know 
those  wretches  would  torture  him,  let  him  look  well  to  him 
self." 

Then  in  a  softer  tone  she  added:  "  Poor  Robbie  !  he 
does  not  dream  there  is  any  such  fate  in  store  for  him.  He 
thinks  his  mother  can  help  and  protect  him  under  any  cir 
cumstances." 

This  conversation  took  place  as  they  were  walking  along 
the  unfrequented  street  leading  to  Mrs.  St.  Glair's  home,  but 
lonely  as  the  place  was,  it  was  hardly  safe  to  say  so  much 
aloud,  and  she  seemed  to  recollect  this,  for  she  stopped 
abruptly  and  began  to  speak  on  in  different  subjects,  but  as 
they  drew  near  the  house  she  said  in  a  low  tone: 

"I  have  written  down  the  story  of  my  life,  for  my  child 
ren  to  read  after  I  am  gone.  I  want  to  teach  them  to  hate 
this  accursed  system — accursed  of  God  and  man — and  they 
will  hate  it  when  they  learn  what  it  has  done  for  their 
mother. 

"I  am  going  to  give   the  papers  to  you,  to  be  kept  until 


IN  THE  TOILS.  157 

called  for.     They  will  be  safer  in  your  hands  than  mine  just 
now." 

The  two  little  boys  were  out  at  their  play,  and  when 
they  entered  the  house  they  found  Robbie  asleep. 

"  Don't  say  anything  to  him  of  this  "  his  mother  whisp 
ered,  "not  for  the  present  at  least." 

Then  crossing  the  room  softly  she  knelt  down  beside  a 
small  trunk  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  and  unlocking  it  took  out 
a  manuscript,  and  placed  it  in  Esther's  hands.  * 

"Am  I  to  read  this?  "  she  asked  as  she  received  it. 

"  Yes,  if  you  wish,  and  God  grant  you  a  better  fate  than 
mine." 

Her  strong  self-control  was  giving  way  and  her  friend, 
thinking  she  would  be  better  alone  pressed  her  hand 
silently  and  took  her  leave  carrying  with  her  the  manuscrip 
containing  the  record  of  sorrows  that  might' one  day  be  her 
own.  When  she  reached  home,  she  put  the  papers  carefully 
away,  feeling  that  she  had  no  right  to  speak  of  their  contents 
to  her  husband  even,  and,  alas  that  it  should  be  so.  There 
were  many  things  besides  her  friend's  history,  about  which 
she  could  not  speak  to  him  now.  He  was  kind  as  ever,  and 
she  could  not  doubt  his  love  for  her,  but  the  fatal  delusion 
that  had  mastered  him  was  a  barrier  to  confidence  on  all 
matters  in  which  the  church  was  in  any  way  concerned. 
When  evening  came,  Wallace  went  out  to  one  of  the  fre 
quent  meetings  at  which  his  presence  was  required,  and  Es 
ther,  after  putting  Winnie  to  bed,  locked  the  door,  and 
taking  down  the  manuscript,  began  to  read: 

THERESA  ST.  GLAIR'S  STORY. 

I  am  of  German  birth,  and  though  my  parents  brought 
me  to  America  when  quite  young,  I  have  always  retained 
a  memory  of  the  dear  Fatherland.  I  do  not  know  who  or 
what  my  people  were  in  their  own  country,  for  they  never 


158  IN  THE  TOILS. 

spoke  of  their  past  to  me,  but  they  must  have  had  wealth, 
for  I  remember  a  large  house  surrounded  by  gardens  in 
which  fountains  were  playing  and  birds  singing. 

Indoors  were  velvet  sofas  and  silk  hangings,  pictures  and 
statues,  and  many  beautiful  and  costly  things  that  I  thought 
little  about  then,  but  missed  afterwards  in  our  new  home. 

I  never  knew  why  we  left  Germany,  but  have  supposed 
since  I  have  been  old  enough  to  reflect  about  it,  that  my 
father  was  involved  in  some  of  the  political  troubles  of 
those  times.  I  only  know  that  for  days  he  was  away,  and 
my  mother  looked  very  sad  and  wept  a  great  deal.  When 
we  left,  it  was  in  the  night  and  we  went  away  very  hurriedly 
leaving  every  thing  in  the  house  just  as  it  was.  My  mother's 
brother  went  with  us  and,  my  old  nurse  Bettina.  I  did  not 
see  my  father  until  after  we  were  on  ship-board. 

When  we  reached  this  country,  we  settled  in  Baltimore, 
and  our  home  there  though  not  like  the  dear  German 
home  was  very  pleasant,  but  I  think  my  mother's  heart 
was  broken  when  she  left  the  Fatherland,  for  she  drooped 
and  faded  from  the  hour  that  we  'set  foot  on  the  shores 
of  the  New  World,  and  in  little  more  than  a  year  she 
died. 

My  father  soon  followed  her,  and  I  was  left  to  my  un 
cle's  care.  He  was  a  grave,  silent  man,  who  had  never  mar 
ried,  and  lived  alone  with  his  books,  mingling  very  lit 
tle  with  the  world,  but  he  had  a  kind  heart,  and  a  very 
tender  love  for  his  dead  sister's  child.  We  lived  in  the 
home  that  my  father  had  chosen,  with  Bettina  to  keep  the 
house  for  us,  and  there,  after  the  first  violence  of  my  childish 
grief  abated,  I  spent  many  tranquil  and  happy  years. 

My  uncle  took  grea^  pains  with  my  education,  and  in  the 
fondness  of  his  heart  used  to  predict  a  brilliant  future  for 
me. 

Dear  kind  unworldly  Uncle  Rupert !  He  little  knew  what 


IN   THE  TOILS.  159 

dangers  beset  the  path  of  a  motherless  girl  like  me.  I  won 
der  sometimes  whether  he  knows  now  of  the  fate  of  the  child 
he  watched  over  so  tenderly.  I  hope  not,  for  it  seems  to  me 
I  would  be  unhappy  in  Heaven,  if  I  could  look  down  on 
the  sorrows  of  those  I  loved. 

I  was  eighteen  when  I  first  saw  Eustace  St.  Clair.  He 
was  a  lawyer,  and  had  charge  of  business  for  my  uucle 
which  brought  him  often  to  our  house.  We  lived  very  re 
tired,  and  I  had  met  few  gentlemen  except  the  grave,  elderly 
men,  my  uncle's  friends,  who  spent  an  occasional  evening 
with  us. 

Certainly,  I  knew  no  one  to  compare  with  this  Adonis, 
whose  silver  tongue  added  to  the  charm  of  his  handsome 
face.  I  loved  him  before  I  knew  the  meaning  of  love  — 
watched  eagerly  for  his  coming  and  was  restless  and  ill  at 
ease  when  he  was  away,  without  dreaming  why. 

And  here,  let  me  do  him  justice,  he  loved  me  truly  in 
those  days  I  believe,  and  meant  to  keep  the  vows  he  made. 

We  were  married  in  six  months  from  the  time  of  our 
first  meeting,  with  my  uncle's  hearty  approval,  for  Eustace 
had  won  his  heart  too  and  I  was  not  to  be  taken  away  from 
him. 

We  were  all  to  live  together  in  the  old  home,  and 
Heaven  was  to  come  down  to  earth,  so  I  thought. 

"  I  look  back  now  with  a  strange  kind  of  pity  on  the  fond, 
foolish  girl  who  used  to  nurse  such  fancies. 

If  she  had    only  died   then,  loving,  trusting,  and  happy. 

In  the  first  year  of  our  marriage,  Robbie  was  born. 
How  I  loved  my  baby  !  How  fast  my  happy  heart  beat  when 
his  little  head  lay  in  my  bosom  !  How  the  touch  of  the  soft 
baby  hands  thrilled  me  through  and  through. 

How  happy  we  all  were,  Eustace  and  I  and  dear  Uncle 
Rupert ;  but  there  was  a  lurking  shadow  at  our  fireside,  of 
whose  presence  I  never  dreamed. 


i6o  IN  THE  TOILS. 

Uncle  had  inherited  the  germs  of  a  fatal  disease,  and 
knew  himself  that  his  days  were  numbered,  but  he  hid  the 
knowledge  from  us,  and  I  was  too  much  absorbed  in  husband 
and  child,  too  selfish  in  my  new-found  joy,  to  note  the  fail 
ing  strength  of  one  who  had  been  both  father  and  mother  to 
me. 

When  the  blow  fell,  it  found  me  all  unprepared.  It  was 
when  Robbie  began  to  take  his  first  uncertain  steps,  and 
lisp  our  names,  that  Death  came  over  our  threshold.  My 
grief  was  real  and  bitter,  and  mingled  too  with  self-reproach, 
but  I  had  Eustace  and  my  boy,  and  time  softened  my  sor 
row  into  a  tender  and  reverent  memory.  Then  another 
child  came ;  a  little  blue-eyed  girl,  as  fair  as  a  lily,  but  she 
only  staid  with  us  three  short  months. 

My  wounded  mother-heart  clung  to  Robbie  with  double 
love  after  she  was  taken,  but  I  trembled  lest  he  should  go 
too,  and  began  to  ask  myself  what  sin  I  was  cherishing  that 
brought  such  sore  punishment  on  me. 

When  still  another  child  was  born,  I  held  it  to  my  heart 
with  a  wild  dread  of  loss,  and  prayed,  oh  how  earnestly! 
that  I  might  keep  it,  but  in  vain.  Before  the  year  ended,  I 
sat  again  beside  my  baby's  empty  cradle,  asking,  "  why 
hast  Thou  dealt  thus  with  me." 

I  must  be  in  the  wrong  way  so  I  reasoned,  and  these 
sharp  strokes  were  to  turn  me  back.  Then  out  of  the 
depths  of  my  sorrow,  I  cried  for  light,  and  promised  to  fol 
low  whithersoever  the  Divine  Hand  should  lead. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  my  aspirations  after  a  higher, 
purer  life  than  any  I  had  ever  known, — aspirations  that  have 
ended — oh  God  !  where  and  how  have  they  ended. 

While  I  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  Eustace  came  home 
one  day  with  news  of  a  meeting  to  be  held  near  us  by  a 
stranger,  of  whose  doctrines  he  knew  little,  but  whose  zeal- 
and  eloquence  he  said,  were  drawing  multitudes  to  hear  him. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  161 

Hitherto  my  husband's  indifference  to  religion  had  caused 
me  much  anxiety,  and  1  was  glad  of  the  interest  he  mani 
fested  in  the  wonderful  preacher  and  gave  a  ready  consent 
to  go  with  him  to  the  meeting. 

That  night  I  saw  and  heard  for  the  first  time  a  Latter 
Day  Saint.  And  that  night  paved  the  way  for  long  years  of 
hopeless  misery  and  unavailing  remorse  ;  and  yet,  why  do  I 
say  remorse  ? 

I  was  seeking  the  truth  with  all  my  heart,  and  though  the 
lie  I  received  for  the  truth  has  wrecked  my  life,  and  the  lives 
of  my  children,  God  will  not  count  my  mistake  a  crime. 

When  Satan  comes  as  an  angel  of  light,  is  it  any  wonder 
that  mere  mortals  are  deceived  ? 

The  preacher,  to  whose  eloquent  words  we  listened  that 
night,  seemed  to  us  all  he  claimed  to  be ;  the  apostle  of  a 
new  dispensation.  Had  he  decried  or  rejected  the  written 
word  of  God,  I  at  least  would  have  shrunk  from  him  with 
horror,  but  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 

True,  his  interpretations  of  the  familiar  language  of  the 
Scriptures  were  novel  and  startling,  but  only  so,  I  thought, 
because  the  Spirit  showed  him  a  depth  of  meaning  in  the 
word  which  I  and  others  like  me  had  failed  to  apprehend. 

I  went  home  that  night  prepared  to  believe  that  God  was 
speaking  again  to  the  world  through  an  inspired  Prophet, 
who  could  answer  the  perplexing  questions  that  filled  my 
soul. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  trace  and  explain  the  successive 
steps  by  which  we  were  led  to  embrace  the  Latter-Day 
gospel,  but  there  is  one  fact  which  I  wish  to  record  dis 
tinctly  : 

The  doctrines  presented  to  us  then  and  there  differed  as 
widely  as  day  and  night  from  that  which  we  were  asked 
to  accept  after  we  reached  Utah. 

I  never  heard  one  word  of  the  Spiritual  Wife  system,  of 


162  IN  THE  TOILS. 

Blood    Atonement,    or    of  the    absolute    temporal   power 
exercised  by  the  Mormon  Prophet. 

These  and  many  other  hideous  and  repulsive  features  of 
the  new  religion  were  most  carefully  concealed  from  the 
converts,  who  were  lured  onward  by  interpretations  of 
prophecy  that  made  the  second  coming  of  Christ  appear 
near  at  hand,  and  by  highly  wrought  pictures  of  the  happy 
valleys  wherein  the  Saints  were  already  gathered,  waiting 
for  their  Lord. 

Almost  as  soon  as  we  were  baptized  into  this  faith,  the 
missionary  began  to  urge  us  to  sell  all  we  had  and  go  with 
him  to  Zion,  but  Eustace  hesitated  and  waited.  His  faith 
in  the  new  gospel  was  not  as  strong  as  mine,  and  he  wanted 
to  be  very  sure  that  the  Lord  called  him  to  go,'  before  he 
would  consent  to  give  up  his  prosperous  business,  forsake 
his  home,  and  turn  his  back  upon  civilization. 

It  is  the  most  painful,  among  many  bitter  memories,  that 
I  continually  urged  him  on,  and  it  was  due  more  to  my 
importunities  than  to  anything  else  that  he  finally  decided 
to  emigrate. 

This  was  two  years  after  we  heard  the  Mormon  Mission 
ary's  first  sermon.  We  had  been  greatly  prospered  since 
our  marriage,  and  with  my  patrimony  added  to  what  my 
husband  made  in  his  business,  we  could  call  ourselves  rich. 

I  thought  of  the  early  Christians,  who  sold  all  their  pos 
sessions  and  laid  the  price  at  the  Apostle's  feet,  and  my 
heart  burned  to  emulate  their  example,  but  my  husband, 
less  enthusiastic,  said  he  should  keep  his  property  in  his 
own  hands  for  the  present;  still  he  converted  all  we  had 
into  money,  and  we  took  everything  with  us  except  the 
property  my  uncle  Rupert  left,  which  was  to  be  Robbie's  when 
he  came  of  age.  My  twin  boys  were  only  eight  months  old 
when  we  started,  and  the  journey  under  such  circumstan 
ces  would  have  looked  very  formidable  to  me,  if  I  had  not 


IN  THE  TOILS.  163 

been  upborne  by  the  belief  that  God  would  lead  us  as  he 
led  his  ancient  people  through  the  wilderness. 

What  hopes  filled  my  heart  when  we  were  fairly  on  the 
way!  At  last  I  should  see  a  Prophet  of  the  living  God  face 
to  face,  and  hear  from  his  lips  an  answer  to  the  question 
my  soul  had  been  asking  so  long. 

"Lord  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do  ?" 

Eustace,  though  sincere  in  his  acceptance  of  the  new 
faith,  did  not  share  my  hopes,  but  neither  had  he  shared 
the  agonizing  conflict  preceding  them. 

"The  religious  element  is  wanting  in  me,"  he  used  to  say, 
and  even  after  he  embraced  Mormonism,  he  was  always 
afraid  of  believing  too  much.  ^ 

For  my  own  part,  I  was  almost  lifted  above  my  earthly 
surroundings  by  the  faith  that  animated  me.  God,  who 
sees  all  hearts,  knows  that  my  motives  were  pure.  I  asked 
nothing,  sought  nothing  but  conformity  to  the  Divine  will, 
and  I  was  going  to  ally  myself  to  a  people  who  had  suffered 
the  loss  of  all  things  in  obedience  to  that  will. 

The  first  shock  to  my  faith  was  my  meeting  with  this 
chosen  people.  We  traveled  by  ourselves  as  far  as  the 
Missouri  river  where  we  joined  a  company  of  Saints  with 
whom  we  were  to  cross  the  plains. 

I  will  never  forget  the  first  day  I  spent  among  them.  I 
could  hardly  believe  my  eyes  and  ears. 

Were  these  the  people  chosen  out  of  the  world  to  show 
forth  the  glory  of  the  coming  kingdom  of  Christ  ?  Were 
these  Saints,  these  men  with  sensual  faces,  leering  looks, 
and  speaking  not  only  the  language  of  the  world,  but  of  a 
lower,  coarser  world  than  I  had  ever  known  ?  And  the 
women,  some  of  them  pale,  spiritless,  and  wearing  the  look 
of  slaves,  crushed  to  the  earth  by  their  burdens  and  their 
chains,  others  bold,  loud-voiced,  and  talking  glibly  of  the 
principles  they  had  embraced  :  Did  I  wish  to  be  like  them  ? 


164  IN  THE  TOILS. 

I  dared  not  hint  my  thoughts  to  Eustace  but  he  was  less 
reticent  regarding  his  own,  and  freely  expressed  to  me  his 
disappointment  and  disgust,  adding  : 

"It  is  too  late  now  to  turn  back,  and  we  must  make  the 
best  of  our  foolish  venture.  Perhaps  I  can  find  some  sort 
of  business  in  this  Eden  of  yours  that  will  be  profitable  and 
pay  me  in  a  measure  for  the  sacrifice  I  have  made.  " 

I  could  say  nothing,  for  the  journey  was  of  my  own  plan 
ning.  I  could  only  hope  against  hope  that  all  would  be 
well  when  we  reached  Zion. 

I  even  took  myself  to  task  for  thinking  so  hardly  of  my 
fellow-travelers.  Our  Lord  surely  came  to  save  the  forlorn, 
the  ignorant  and  the  degraded,  and  these  had  been  drawn  to 
Zion  because  they  needed  Him.  If  I  had  but  faith  and 
patience  to  wait,  I  might  yet  witness  a  miracle  of  transfor 
mation  wrought  in  those  coarse  and  vile  natures,  when  His 
hands  were  laid  upon  them. 

So  not  losing  my  faith  in  God,  and  trying  to  hold  fast  my 
faith  in  Mormonism,  I  journeyed  with  husband  and  children 
across  the  desert  in  that  strange  company — a  sad  pilgrimage, 
and  rendered  doubly  so  by  daily  recurring  developments  of 
the  character  and  purpose  of  those  whose  lead  we  were  fol 
lowing. 

It  was  on  the  dreariest  and  most  desolate  portion  of  our 
route  that  my  boy  met  with  the  accident  which  doomed  him 
to  a  lifetime  of  suffering,  and  then  indeed  it  seemed  that  my 
cup  of  sorrow  and  self- reproach  was  full  ;  but  he,  dear  child, 
never  murmured,  and  comforted  me  when  I  should  have 
comforted  him. 

He  was  so  sure  the  dear  Heavenly  Father  would  bring 
good  out  of  all  this  suffering,  and  make  all  end  well,  that 
my  own  faith  and  courage  came  back  to  me. 

At  length  our  journey  ended,  and  Zion  was  in  sight.  I 
had  ceased  by  this  time  to  expect  much,  and  so  my  disap- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  165 

pointment  was  not  great.  It  was  only  the  third  year  since 
the  settlement  of  the  valley,  and  Eustace  said,  considering 
the  shortness  of  the  time  and  the  nature  of  the  country, 
the  settlers  had  done  wonders. 

We  pitched  our  tent  and  began  to  build  our  cabin  with 
the  rest  in  a  cheerful  and  hopeful  spirit,  resolved  to  make 
the  best  of  every  thing,  and  but  for  Robbie's  affliction  I 
should  have  been  almost  content. 

The  great  object  of  the  journey  however,  remained  unac 
complished.  I  had  not  yet  seen  the  Prophet  of  the  Lord 
face  to  face.  He  was  not  at  home  when  we  arrived,  and  we 
were  told  he  might  be  absent  six  weeks.  Strangely  enough, 
this  was  a  relief  to  me,  for  I  dreaded  the  meeting  with  the 
Prophet  as  much  as  I  had  once  desired  it,  dreaded  it  as  the 
final  blow  to  my  faith  in  the  Latter-day  gospel ;  but  while 
we  waited  his  return,  that  blow  came  from  another  quarter. 

While  on  our  journey  9  had  only  mingled  with  my  fellow- 
travellers  when  compelled  to  do  so,  and  this  will  account 
for  the  fact  that  I  reached  Salt  Lake  in  absolute  ignorance 
of  the  practice  of  polygamy. 

True,  I  had  heard  something  about  "  Spiritual  wives," 
and  "celestial  marriage,"  but  I  never  dreamed  of  the  sys 
tem  of  concubinage  and  wholesale  adultery  to  which  these 
terms  referred. 

When  I  found  that  our  nearest  neighbor  (a  bishop,  by  the 
way,)  had  three  women  living  under  his  roof,  all  of  whom 
had  borne  children  to  him,  and  each  of  whom  he  called 
"  wife,"  a  wave  of  indignation  and  horror  swept  away  the 
last  vestige  of  belief  in  the  false  teachings  to  which  I  had 
listened. 

I  did  not  need  now  to  be  assured  that  the  Prophet  was  an 
impostor  and  when  I  saw  him  for  the  first  time,  as  he  arose 
to  speak  to  an  assemblage  of  his  people,  his  true  character 
was  as  plain  to  me  as  it  is  to-day. 


i66  IN  THE  TOILS. 

His  sermon,  on  the  occasion  referred  to,  consisted  chiefly 
of  coarse  and  vindictive  denunciations  of  all  peoples  and 
governments  outside  of  the  "  Kindom  of  God"  as  he  de 
nominated  his  own  rule. 

His  closing  remarks  were  addressed  to  his  followers, 
whom  he  berated  for  various  short-comings.  The  women, 
some  of  whom  it  seems  had  grown  restive  under  the  double 
tyranny  of  their  masters  and  the  church,  came  in  for  their 
share  of  invective,  clothed  in  such  language  that  I  glanced 
round  involuntarily,  wondering  how  men  with  sisters  and 
wives  could  sit  still  and  listen  to  it,  but  none  of  the  brethren 
showed  the  least  sign  of  discomposure. 

I  would  have  risen  and  left  the  place,  but  my  husband 
laid  a  detaining  hand  on  my  arm. 

"  Wait"  he  whispered  "we  must  not  make  ourselves  con 
spicuous  by  going  out  now.  It  might  not  be  safe." 

When  we  reached  home,  I  asked  him  what  he  meant. 

"Just  this,"  he  answered,  "  while  we  are  in  Rome,  we  must 
not  fight  against  Roman  ways.  I  can't  say  that  the  sermon 
this  morning  was  very  much  to  my  taste,  but  since  we  are 
here  and  obliged  to  stay,  I  am  not  going  to  render  myself 
obnoxious  to  the  ruling  powers." 

"  But  you  don't  believe  that  man  to  be  a  Prophet,  and  you 
are  convinced  as  well  as  I  that  we  have  been  grossly  de 
ceived,  and  that  Mormonism  is  an  imposture  from  beginning 
to  end.  Is  it  not  so?  " 

"  Don't  cross-question  me,"  he  answered  lightly.  "  It  is 
one  of  your  own  sages  who  says  : 

"Die  Wahrheit  und  die  Rosa  sind  schoen;  beide  aber,  haben 
Dornen." 

Surely,  Eustace  was  changing. 

The  religious  element  might  have  been  wanting  in  him 
always  as  he  said,  but  heretofore  I  had  given  him  credit  for 


IN  THE  TOILS.  167 

clear  perceptions  of  right  and  wrong,  a  keen  sense  of  honor, 
and  courage  enough  to  be  true  to  his  convictions. 

As  month  after  month  passed  away  in  our  new  home,  the 
change  became  more  apparent.  Still  a  tender  husband  and 
kind  father,  he  was  in  all  other  respects,  so  unlike  himself 
that  his  friends  of  earlier  days  would  not  have  recognized 
him. 

He  was  much  in  the  company  of  the  Mormon  leaders,  and 
obviously  a  favorite  with  them,  and  I  charged  the  transfor 
mation  to  their  influence.  He  affected  great  faith  in  their 
teachings,  of  which  I  knew  he  did  not  believe  a  word, — and 
indeed  I  think  few  of  them  believed  Avhat  they  taught  them 
selves.  Those  were  sad  years,  when  I  was  compelled  to 
watch  the  gradual  deterioration  of  the  noble  nature  which 
had  won  and  kept  my  love. 

Outwardly  all  went  well  with  us;  we  built  a  comfortable 
house  which  was  much  better  furnished  than  those  of  our 
neighbors.  The  property  we  brought  with  us  increased,  for 
Eustace  was  quite  in  earnest  about  making  money  out  01 
our  settlement  in  Zion,  and  he  succeeded. 

All  of  us  except  Robbie  had  excellent  health,  and  even 
he  was  much  better  than  we  could  have  hoped. 

Thus  more  than  two  years  passed  away  before  the  storm 
broke  upon  me  that  wrecked  my  life. 

Up  to  this  time,  but  little  had  been  said  in  our  home 
about  the  cruel  and  horrible  system  that  degraded  the 
women  around  us  below  the  level  of  slaves. 

I  did  not  go  out  much,  still  I  could  not  help  seeing  some 
thing  of  Polygamy  but  knowing  how  powerless  I  was  to  help 
its  wretched  victims,  I  tried  to  shut  my  eyes  and  ears. 

If  ever  I  spoke  to  Eustace  about  it,  he  answered  with  a 
jest,  usually  adding  : 

"  Why  should  we  trouble  ourselves  about  that  which  does 
not  concern  us?  It  will  be  time  enough  for  you  to  take 


168  IN  THE  TOILS. 

those  matters  to  heart  when  you  are  personally  involved." 

In  the  third  year  after  our  arrival  in  Utah,  I  hired  a  girl 
by  the  name  of  Lydia  Ellis  to  live  with  us.  She  was  English 
and  rather  more  intelligent  than  most  persons  of  her  class  ; 
handsome  too,  as  my  neighbors  observed,  when  comment 
ing  on  my  folly  in  taking  such  a  girl  into  the  house,  but  Ly- 
dia's  crisp  curls,  bright  eyes  and  red  cheeks,  gave  me  no 
disquiet. 

She  was  neat  and  capable  and  lightened  my  house-keep 
ing  cares  greatly.  She  was  kind  to  the  children  also,  and  I 
congratulated  myself  on  having  secured  her  services  as  I 
was  now  in  delicate  health,  and  needed  some  one  upon 
whom  I  could  rely. 

As  the  months  passed  and  my  hour  of  trial  drew  near,  I 
was  often  very  ill,  and  so  depressed  that  I  wondered  at  my 
self.  All  my  courage  seemed  to  have  deserted  me,  and  I 
chided  myself  for  the  sad,  tear-stained  face  which  I  thought 
made  home  unpleasant  to  my  husband,  for  at  this  time,  when 
I  felt  the  need  of  his  love  so  much,  he  was  away  from  me 
more  than  he  had  ever  been  before  in  our  whole  married 
life. 

He  was  very  busy,  he  said,  and  even  when  with  me  he 
was  absent-minded  and  pre-occupied. 

I  missed  the  petting  tenderness  with  which  he  always 
treated  me  when  ill,  and  the  little  attentions  that  mean  so 
much  to  a  woman,  though  a  man  might  count  them  trifles. 

Eustace  was  changed,  greatly  changed.  I  did  not  try  to 
hide  that  from  myself,  but  not  the  faintest  suspicion  of  what 
was  in  his  mind  had  dawned  upon  me,  when  one  evening 
he  came  into  my  room  and  locked  the  door,  saying  he 
wished  to  speak  to  me  without  being  interrupted. 

He  was  very  pale,  and  there  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  that 
made  my  heart  stand  still  with  a  vague  terror ; — and  yet 
I  never  dreamed  of  what  was  coming. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  169 

"  Theresa,"  he  began  at  length,  "  I  have  tried  to  be  a  good 
husband  to  you;  I  think  you  will  own  that  few  women  have 
been  treated  with  more  tenderness.  That  I  have  loved  you, 
you  know,  but  my  love  for  you  has  been  a  snare  to  me.  It 
has  drawn  me  from  the  path  of  duty,  and  made  me  insensi 
ble  to  higher  obligations." 

I  had  risen  as  he  spoke  and  stood  before  him  breathless, 
trembling  and  bewildered. 

"  Eustace,"  I  gasped,  "  what  does  all  this  mean?  Are  you 
mad." 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  was  never  saner,  but  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  live  my  religion  at  any  cost,  and  fulfill  all 
the  duties  it  imposes,  and  as  soon  as  you  are  able  to  go 
with  us  to  the  Endowment  House,  I  am  to  be  sealed  to 
Lydia  Ellis  for  time  and  eternity." 

I  heard  the  dreadful  words  only  as  a  drowning  rnan  hears 
the  roaring  of  the  waters  about  his  head.  Strength  and 
consciousness  were  fast  leaving  me.  The  last  thing  I  re 
membered  was  a  throe  of  intense  bodily  pain.  Then  a  great 
gulf  of  darkness  swallowed  me  up  and  I  knew  no  more. 

When  I  came  to  myself,  I  was  lying  on  my  bed  and  an 
old  woman,  bent  and  wrinkled  but  with  a  kind,  motherly 
face,  sat  beside  me. 

A  taper  burned  dimly  on  the  farther  side  of  the  room,  a 
little  stand  by  the  pillow  was  covered  with  cups  and  bottle 
and  the  odor  of  some  powerful  drug  prevaded  the  apart 
ment. 

I  tried  to  move,  but  found  I  could  not  even  raise  my 
hand  to  my  head.  The  old  nurse  rose  and  bent  over  me. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  asked  and  my  own  voice 
sounded  strange  to  me,  it  was  so  hoarse  and  weak. 

"  You  have  been  very  sick,  poor  dear,  but  you  are  better 
now.  You  must  not  try  to  talk." 


1 70  IN  THE  TOILS. 

Then  putting  a  cup  to  my  lips,  she  told  me  to  drink  and 
and  try  to  sleep. 

I  obeyed,  but  though  too  weak  to  move  I  was  wakeful, 
and  lay  watching  the  woman's  face,  wondering  vaguely  who 
she  was  and  how  she  came  there.  In  a  little  while  I  heard  a 
faint  wail  from  the  crib  near  my  bed,  and  saw  the  nurse  take 
up  a  tiny  bundle.  Up  to  this  moment  I  remembered  noth 
ing,  not  even  my  condition,  but  the  cry  that  reached  my  ears 
roused  me  as  from  a  dream. 

Slowly  my  benumbed  faculties  awoke  to  life,  and  I  began 
to  recall  the  latest  events  of  which  I  had  been  conscious, 
but  the  day  on  which  I  was  taken  ill  was  yet  a  blank. 

I  m'ust  know  more,  and  disregarding  the  nurse's  injunc 
tion  I  spoke  again: 

"  Is  that  my  baby?     Bring  it  here  and  let  me  see  it." 

"It's  your  baby,  sure  enough,  and  little  we  all  thought  that 
its  mother  would  live  to  see  its  face.  You  knew  nothing 
for  three  days  before  the  baby  came,  and  it's  now  three 
days  since,  but  we  will  have  you  well  soon  if  you  try  to  rest 
and  don't  fret." 

Why  should  I  fret,  I  thought,  but  I  only  said  ''  Give  me 
the  baby,  and  I  will  go  to  sleep." 

The  old  woman  hesitated  a  moment,  but  finally  placed  it 
in  my  arms ;  poor  powerless  arms,  too  weak  to  clasp  my 
child,  as  they  were  too  weak  to  hold  and  shield  her  in  after 
days. 

But  the  baby's  face,  nestled  against  my  breast,  brought  a 
sense  of  content,  and  in  a  little  while  we  both  slept.  I 
awoke  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning,  feeling  much  bet 
ter  and  stronger,  and  began  to  ask  for  my  husband  and 
the  boys,  but  the  nurse  again  begged  me  not  to  talk,  and 
said  if  I  wanted  to  get  well  I  must  see  no  one  for  the 
present. 

Two  or  three  days  went  by  in  this  manner,  and  then   I 


IN  THE  TOILS.  171 

begged  so  earnestly  at  least  to  see  Robbie,  that  his  chair 
was  wheeled  into  my  room,  but  he  was  not  allowed  to  stay 
and  talk  with  me. 

In  the  afternoon,  Eustace  came,  but  he  only  stood  at  my 
bedside  long  enough  to  ask  if  I  was  better,  and  then  after 
saying  a  few  words  to  the  nurse,  left  the  room.  I  wondered 
at  this,  but  supposed  it  must  be  on  account  of  the  perfect 
quiet  that  was  necessary  to  my  recovery.  Of  my  last  in 
terview  with  him,  and  the  words  that  struck  me  down  sense 
less  at  his  feet,  I  had  absolutely  no  recollection. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  week  or  more,  I  found  myself  so  much 
stronger  that  the  nurse  consented  to  bolster  me  up  in  bed.  As 
I  looked  round  the  disordered  room,  I  asked  : 

"  Where  is  Lydia  ?  She  might  come  in  and  help  you  put 
things  to  rights.  " 

The  old  woman  gave  me  a  pitying  glance,  but  did  not 
reply  at  once  ;  finally  she  said  • 

"  I  thought  you  would  not  like  to  have  Lydia  come  in.  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  asked,  but  before  she  could  answer  I  saw 
as  in  a  flash  of  lightning  my  husband's  face  as  it  appeared 
on  the  dreadful  night  that  had  been  a  blank  to  me  until 
now,  and  heard  him  saying  "  I  am  to  be  sealed  to  Lydia 
Ellis  for  time  and  eternity.  " 

Everything  in  the  room  swam  round  me,   but  I  did  not 

faint  nor  cry  out.     A  strength  that  surely  was  not  my  own 

.  sustained    body   and  soul.      I   looked  down   on  my  baby 

sleeping  beside  me,  and  on  the  porch  outside  I   heard  the 

pattering  feet  of  my  little  boys. 

My  children  needed  me.  Henceforth  they  would  have 
only  their  mother.  I  must  not  die. 

I  did  not  die  but  gained  strength  steadily,  day  by  day. 
My  husband  made  occasional  visits  to  my  rooms,  and  in 
quired  formally  after  my  health,  and  I  answered  always 


1 72  IN  THE  TOILS. 

with  composed  face  and  voice  that  I  was  improving,  and 
hoped  soon  to  be  well. 

I  never  saw  him  alone  until  my  health  was  quite  restored  ; 
then  I  sent  for  him  and  he  obeyed  the  summons. 

The  whole  of  that  interview  I  cannot  trust  myself  to  relate. 
I  heard  without  surprise  that  the  "  sealing  "  of  which  he  had 
spoken  was  consummated,  and  that  Lydia  Ellis  occupied  the 
place  which  had  been  mine  for  fifteen  years.  I  heard  too  a 
homily  upon  wifely  obedience,  and  an  exhortation  to  accept 
of  the  doctrine  of  plural  marriage  and  thereby  make  my  own 
salvation  sure. 

What  reply  I  gave  it  is  needless  to  record.  I  wasted  no 
breath  in  reproaches  or  complaints,  nor  did  I  ask  anything 
except  that  out  of  my  own  money,  which  Eustace  had  in  his 
hands,  a  home  might  be  provided  elsewhere  for  me  and  my 
children. 

This  he  at  first  positively  refused,  and  when  I  said  that  I 
should  leave  his  house  before  another  sunset,  whether  he 
provided  a  home  for  me  or  not,  he  told  me  I  might  go 
when  and  where  I  would,  but  the  children  should  stay  with 
him. 

I  had  never  dreamed  that  he  would  dare  to  utter  such  a 
threat  even,  and  the  possibility  that  he  might  do  as  he  said 
maddened  me. 

I  remember  catching  up  a  knife  that  lay  on  the  table, 
with  a  wild  impulse  to  put  an  end  to  his  life  or  mine,  but 
the  Saint  who  had  witnessed  my  tortures  thus  far  with  the 
admirable  calmness  that  must  have  distinguished  the  Spanish 
Inquisitors  while  their  victims  were  on  the  rack,  coolly  dis 
armed  me,  and  said  with  a  sardonic  smile  : 

"On  the  whole,  I  think  I  will  let  you  go.  These  little 
domestic  scenes,  though  interesting  at  first,  become  weari 
some  by  repetition,  and  I  perhaps  might  in  time  become  a 
fault-finding  husband, — a  thing  that  I  abhor.  So  if  you 


IN    THE  TOILS.  173 

please,  you  may  prepare  to  move  tomorrow  into  a  house  of 
my  selection,  you  and  the  children. 

"  They  may  remain  with  you  for  the  present,  and  possibly 
the  knowledge  that  I  can  take  them  from  you  any  day  or 
hour  may  help  to  subdue  your  impetuosity ; — the  only  fault 
you  have,  my  dear.  " 

What  refinements  of  cruelty  can  be  practiced  upon  a 
mother !  With  my  children  in  his  power,  Eustace  could 
torture  me  at  will, — could  exact  any  pledge,  any  sacrifice 
from  me. 

And  just  here  lies  the  secret  of  the  power  of  the  Mor 
mon  Priesthood  over  the  women  who  loathe  their  teachings 
and  would  welcome  death  in  any  shape  rather  than  the 
slavery  to  which  they  are  doomed,  if  other  lives  were  not 
bound  up  in  theirs. 

I  was  helpless  and  did  as  the  helpless  must ; — submitted 
to  any  fate.  I  was  allowed  to  pack  my  trunk  with  a  few 
articles  of  clothing  for  myself  and  the  children,  a  little 
bedding  and  furniture  was  loaded  into  the  wagon  that 
waited  to  receive  us  and  I  and  my  little  ones  were  driven 
away  from  what  had  been  our  home. 

It  was  a  sad  and  bitter  going  out  into  the  world,  but  in 
finitely  preferable  to  remaining  in  the  house  of  the  man  who 
had  ceased  to  be  my  husband,  and  when  our  scanty  furni 
ture  was  set  up  in  the  cabin  to  which  we  were  taken,  and  a 
fire  lighted  in  the  hearth,  a  sense  of  security  and  peace,  a 
feeling  that  was  almost  happiness,  came  over  me.  I  had  my 
children  and  for  the  present,  at  least,  there  was  none  to 
molest  or  make  us  afraid  under  the  humble  roof  that  shel 
tered  us. 

Robbie  was  the  only  one  able  to  understand  the  change  that 
had  come  over  our  lives,  and  he,  with  a  faith  and  patience 
that  shamed  me,  bore  everything  without  a  murmur,  and 


174  IN  THE  TOILS. 

talked  cheerfully  of  our  Heavenly  Father's  love,  and  of  the 
good  days  he  had  yet  in  store  for  us. 

For  a  few  months  we  lived  in  this  way,  without 
the  added  sufferings  of  hunger  or  cold. 

Eustace  provided  us  with  the  necessaries  of  life  during 
the  winter,  but  in  the  spring  his  attentions  began  to  slacken, 
and  at  last  there  were  days  when  the  children  wanted 
food. 

My  own  money  was  all  in  his  hands,  as  I  have  said,  and 
my  children's  hunger  drove  me  to  beg  help  of  him. 

Sometimes  my  requests  were  granted,  sometimes  disre 
garded. 

I  tried  to  earn  something  to  keep  us  from  want,  but  work 
was  hard  to  get  and  poorly  paid. 

At  length  my  baby  fell  sick, — my  little  girl  who  came  to 
me  in  the  darkest  hour  of  my  life. 

She  was  never  strong,  and  had  known  the  pangs  of  hun 
ger  like  the  rest  of  us.  It  was  hard,  God  only  knows  how 
hard  to  see  the  pitiful,  patient  look  in  those  baby  eyes  when 
her  lips  sought  her  mother's  breast  in  vain. 

Hunger  for  me  meant  hunger  for  my  darling,  and  there 
were  days  when  I  wonder  I  did  not  go  mad,  as  I  searched 
my  empty  cupboard  vainly  for  a  crust  of  bread. 

What  wonder  that  my  baby  pined  away  until  I  saw  the 
seal  of  death  upon  her  face ! 

The  last  day  of  her  life,  we  had  food  in  the  house,  but  no 
light  as  the  night  drew  on,  not  even  firelight,  for  I  could  not 
leave  my  dying  child  to  gather  the  sage-bush  that  made  our 
summer  fuel. 

A  little  after  sunset,  I  saw  Eustace  coming  up  the  street. 

He  would  stop  surely,  I  thought,  for  he  knew  the  child 
was  sick, — but  no,  he  passed  right  on. 

In  my  desperation,  I  laid  my  baby  on  the  bed  and  rushed 
after  him. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  175 

"  Eustace,"  I  cried,  "the  baby  is  dying  and  I  have  no  light 
in  the  house.  Are  you  going  to  leave  us  so?  " 

He  never  paused  or  turned  his  head,  and  I  went  back  to 
my  children,  feeling  that  I  had  made  my  last  appeal  to 
him. 

That  night! — Can  I  ever  forget  it,  even  when  I  see  my 
baby  in  the  paradise  of  God? 

It  was  a  cloudy  summer  night,  moonless  and  intensely 
dark.  My  little  boy  slept  and  Robbie  alone  shared  my 
sorrowful  vigil. 

The  baby  did  not  suffer,  at  least  I  thought  not,  and  for 
that  I  thanked  the  Father  of  mercies  ;  she  was  passing 
away  quietly  and  painlessly. 

It  must  have  been  still  early  in  the  evening,  when  I  found 
I  could  no  longer  discern  a  pulsation  in  the  tiny  wrist  I  held 
in  my  hand,  or  hear  the  faint,  fluttering  breath,  when  I 
placed  my  ear  to  her  lips. 

My  baby  was  dead,  and  my  first  thought  was  to  thank 
God  that  she  was  spared  such  sorrows  as  her  mother  had 
endured. 

But  oh!  the  long  hours  I  sat  with  my  dead  child  in  my 
arms,  waiting  for  daylight. 

In  that  awful  darkness,  I  composed  as  best  I  could  the 
waxen  limbs,  and  pressed  down  the  lids  over  the  blue  eyes, 
whose  piteous,  appealing  looks  would  never  pierce  my  heart 
again. 

My  baby,  my  darling!  She  had  gone  where  they  hunger 
no  more  ;  where  the  tears  are  wiped  from  all  faces. 

The  loving,  merciful  Father  of  all,  had  taken  my  worse 
than  fatherless  little  one,  to  his  own  tender  arms. 

I  thanked  Him  for  that;  I  thank  Him  still — and  yet  how 
I  have  longed  to  see  my  baby's  face  once  more. 

When  she  is  restored  to  me  in  the  paradise  of  God  shall 


176  IN  THE  TOILS. 

I  forget  the  anguish    of   giving  her   up    without  one   last 
look? 

The  night  seemed  endless.  There  was  nothing  to  mark 
the  hours  that  dragged  so  slowly  past. 

I  sat  beside  Robbie's  bed  until  the  deathly  chill  from 
the  little  form  in  my  arms  penetrated  my  flesh  and  seemed 
to  reach  my  heart. 

Would  daylight  never  come?  Yes,  thank  God!  the  first 
faint  streaks  of  dawn  began  to  show  themselves  in  the 
East. 

Blessed  light!  And  yet  the  first  sight  it  showed  me  was 
the  lifeless  face  of  my  darling. 

As  the  morning  advanced,  our  nearest  neighbors,  rough 
but  kindly  people,  came  in,  and  when  they  saw  our  situation 
offered  to  go  for  Eustace  at  once. 

I  said  nothing  and  thinking  me  too  much  absorbed  in  my 
sorrow  to  speak,  they  dispatched  one  of  their  number  to 
bring  him,  while  the  others  remained  to  perform  such  kind 
offices  as  they  were  able  to. 

When  Eustace  came,  bringing  with  him  some  of  the 
brethren,  he  acted  the  part  of  an  affectionate  and  bereaved 
parent  to  perfection.  He  even  shed  tears  over  the  little  one 
murdered  by  his  own  cruelty  and  and  neglect,  and  in  tones 
of  sorrowful  reproach  asked  "Why,  my  dear  wife,  why  did 
you  not  send  for  me  before?" 

If  there  had  been  one  lingering  spark  of  love  in  my 
heart  for  him,  it  died  out  then.  From  that  hour,  I  have 
thought  of  him  only  with  loathing.  He  lives  in  the  pleasant 
house  that  was  my  home  once,  and  Lydia  shares  it  with 
him,  but  the  knowledge  of  his  love  for  her  does  not  now 
give  me  a  single  jealous  pang. 

A  child  has  been  born  to  them,  and  I  heard  of  it  with 
out  emotion. 


IN  THE  TOILS. 


177 


My  dead  and  buried  love  cannot  cause  me  to  suffer  as 
living  love  did. 

There  is  no  hope  for  me  in  this  world,  none.  The  moun 
tain  ranges  that  surround  these  valleys  are  the  walls  of  my 
prison-house.  I  cannot  escape. 

Death  is  the  only  angel  that  can  open  the  door  for  me 
and  loose  my  bonds,  and  for  his  coming  I  must  not  pray, 
because  my  life  belongs  to  my  children.  When  they  cease 
to  need  me  I  believe  deliverance  will  come.  Until  then  I 
do  not  ask  it. 

If  my  sorrows  shall  be  the  means  of  teaching  my  sons  to 
abhor  the  false  and  cruel  faith  that  caused  them,  I  will 
not  have  suffered  in  vain.  I  leave  what  I  have  written  down 
to  be  read  by  them  when  they  reach  manhood,  and  their 
mother  has  found  the  shelter  of  the  Grave. 

*          *          *          *          «*•*• 


PART  II.— CHAPTER   in. 

"HELP!  HELP!" — WEAVING  THE   TOILS — BROTHER  DANIELS 

A  VICTIM RESOLVING  UPON  ESCAPE HARWOOD*S  DESIGNS 

THE  EMIGRANT   TRAIN. 

Esther  had  wiped  away  many  tears,  as  she  perused  the 
record  of  a  noble  life,  so  sadly  clouded.  As  she  refolded 
the  papers  and  restored  them  to  their  hiding-place  she  was 
tempted  to  ask  : 

"  Why  does  God  permit  a  sincere  soul  to  fall  into  such  a 
pit?  " 

Theresa  St.  Clair,  she  knew,  was  not  the  only  one  to 
whom  Satan  had  come  as  an  angel  of  light.  There  were 
hundreds  in  these  valleys,  whose  motives  were  as  pure, 
whose  faith  was  as  sincere  as  hers,  and  like  her  they  had 
been  snared  to  their  own  destruction. 

"And  I,"  she  thought,  "  who  came  here  not  because  I  be 
lieved  the  lying  message  of  a  self-styled  Apostle,  but  because 
I  wanted  to  be  true  to  my  marriage  vow,  and  cleave  to  my 
husband  through  good  and  ill,  I  am  likely  to  reap  my  reward 
with  the  rest." 

She  leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  gazed  across  the 
moonlit  valley,  to  where  the  rugged  peaks  of  the  Wasatch 
stood  up,  dark  and  frowning,  against  the  clear  sky. 

Well  might  poor  Theresa  St.  Clair  exclaim  : 

"  They  are  the  walls  of  my  prison-house." 

No  chained  captive,  pining  in  his  dungeon,  was  evermore 
completely  separated  from  the  outer  world  and  cut  off  from 


IN  THE  TOILS.  179 

succor,  than  the  helpless  women  between  whom  and  liberty 
rose  those  rocky  barriers,  with  the  savage  desert  behind 
them. 

The  picture  impressed  her  painfully.  Was  not  she  too  a 
prisoner,  with  as  little  prospect  of  release  as  any  of  her 
fellow- captives? 

Even  if  her  husband  should  lose  his  faith  in  Mormonism, 
there  was  no  hope  for  them.  They  were  in  the  custody 
of  jailors  who  permitted  no  escapes. 

She  was  still  at  her  window,  looking  out  over  the  sleeping 
city,  when  the  little  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  the  hour  of 
midnight.  Her  husband  had  not  yet  returned,  and  she  be 
gan  to  feel  uneasy  at  his  prolonged  absence. 

Could  anything  have  happened  to  him?  The  meeting  he 
had  gone  to  attend  was  only  four  blocks  away,  and  the  full 
moon  made  the  streets  as  light  almost  as  in  the  day-time. 

She  would  not  have  been  afraid  to  venture  out  herself, 
everything  seemed  so  quiet ;  but  even  while  the  thought 
passed  through  her  mind,  a  sharp  cry  rang  out  on  the  still 
night  air  : 

"  Help  !    Help  !  " 

It  was  a  woman's  voice,  and  almost  in  the  same  moment 
the  startled  listener  distinguished  the  words  : 

"  For  the  love  of  Heaven  spare  my  life." 

Then  another  half  smothered  cry,  and  all  was  still. 

The  next  minute  she  saw  a  man  turn  the  corner  and  walk 
rapidly  towards  her  own  house.  It  was  her  husband,  and  as 
she  opened  the  door  to  admit  him,  two  more  men  came  in 
sight. 

They  were  running,  and  as  it  seemed  to  her  from  the 
direction  in  which  she  had  heard  the  cry  for  help. 

Wallace  drew  his  wife  one  side,  almost  roughly,  and 
hastily  shut  and  bolted  the  door.  As  he  did  so,  she  noticed 
his  pale  and  haggard  looks,  and  with  a  fresh  sense  of  alarm, 


180  IN   THE  TOILS. 

she  inquired  what  had  happened,  and  whether  he  knew  the 
meaning  of  the  cries  she  had  heard. 

"  If  you  love  me,  Esther,  don't  ask  me  anything  about  it," 
he  said,  "  a  wrong-doer  has  been  punished,  but  it  is  a  matter 
in  which  neither  you  nor  I  have  any  right  to  interfere,  and 
I  beg,  for  your  own  sake,  as  well  as  mine,  that  if  you  have 
heard  anything  you  will  not  let  it  be  known.  I  am  sorry 
your  light  was  burning,  and  hope  no  one  will  find  out  that 
you  were  up  when  I  came  home." 

"  Charles,"  Esther  said,  speaking  slowly  and  looking 
steadily  at  him,  "  a  great  wrong  has  been  done,  of  that  I 
am  sure.  I  heard  a  woman's  voice  begging  for  life,  and 
then  a  smothered  sound,  as  though  a  choking  hand  at  her 
throat  stifled  her  cries.  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  witnessed 
a  murder  without  attempting  to  rescue  the  victim?  " 

"  I  have  witnessed  nothing,  and  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had 
heard  nothing,  but  I  warn  you  again  that  both  of  us  must 
hide  our  knowledge  of  what  has  happened  to-night.  To 
speak  of  it  would  be  to  court  destruction  for  ourselves,\vith- 
out  helping  any  one  else." 

"You  know  then,  what  those  cries  meant." 

"  Esther,  do  you  want  to  drive  me  mad?  I  have  told  you 
that  a  wrong-doer  has  been  punished.  There  are  sins  that 
cannot  be  atoned  without  the  shedding  of  blood,  and  the 
Priesthood  count  it  their  duty  to  purify  Zion  by  cutting  oft" 
such  sinners  from  the  earth.  If  they  are  wrong,  I  cannot 
help  it,  and  now  I  beg  that  you  will  say  nothing  more." 

Esther  was  silent,  but  in  her  heart  she  resolved  to  know 
more.  In  some  way  she  feared  that  the  Priesthood,  of 
whose  bloody  work  she  had  heard  before,  had  managed  to 
implicate  her  husband  in  this  night's  crime. 

The  next  day,  she  made  an  errand  to  Mrs.  Nye's  thinking 
that  she  might  learn  something  there.  She  found  her  neigh 
bor  alone,  and  after  a  few  common-place  remarks,  asked  her 


IN  THE  TOILS.  181 

directly  whether  she  had  heard  anything  unusual  the  night 
before. 

"  I  could  not  well  help  hearing,"  was  the  answer  "  as  the 
police,  who  are  the  most  effective  agents  of  the  Priesthood, 
here  in  the  city,  seized  Pauline  R — ,  almost  at  my  door." 

"  Who  was  she  and  what  had  she  done  ?  " 

"  Pauline  is  the  pretty  little  Jewess  whom  you  may  have 
seen  about  the  city  during  the  spring  and  summer,  selling 
handkerchiefs  and  embroideries.  She  came  here  last  year 
with  her  father.  They  belonged  to  a  company  of  California 
emigrants  who  stopped  in  Salt  Lake  a  little  while,  but  the 
old  man  thought  he  saw  a  good  opening  for  hin  business 
here,  and  so  remained  and  professed  a  great  interest  in  the 
doctrines  of  the  Saints.  He  may  have  been  baptized  even 
though  of  this  I  am  not  sure,  but  I  know  he  has  paid  his 
tithing  regularly.  I  have  no  idea  that  he  has  the  least  faith 
in  Mormonism.  It  is  a  simple  matter  of  business  with  him, 
and  Pauline,  more  honest  or  less  prudent  than  her  father, 
has  expressed  her  real  sentiments  too  freely.  Besides  this 
she  had  been  about  a  good  deal  in  Mormon  families,  and 
learned  some  things  that  ought  not  to  be  told,  and  that  she 
could  not  be  trusted  to  keep  secret ;  but  I  think  she  precip 
itated  her  fate  by  a  bold  and  strongly-worded  refusal  to 
become  Elder  Warren's  third  wife. 

He  is  a  man  who  never  forgives,  and  he  has  influence 
enough  to  get  those  who  offend  him  put  out  of  the  way.  I 
knew  some  days  ago  that  poor  little  Pauline  was  doomed, 
but  I  could  not  warn  her,  and  if  I  could  what  good  would  it 
have  done?  She  was  like  all  the  rest  of  us,  snared  in  a  net 
whose  meshes  cannot  be  broken.  There  is  no  hope  nor 
help  for  any  woman  who  don't  accept  Polygamy  as  a  divine 
ordinance. 

"  You  say  you  knew  she  was  doomed,  how  did  you  find  it 
out?" 


182  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  Oh  I  heard  numbers  of  the  brethren  and  some  of 
the  sisters  saying  that  Pauline  had  taken  to  bad  ways.  That 
is  the  first  thing  they  say  about  a  woman  here  after  they 
have  decided  that  she  must  die.  Then  one  of  the  Bishops 
lamented  that  all  his  exhortations  had  been  disregarded  by 
sister  Pauline,  and  said  that  if  they  could  save  her  in  no 
other  way,  it  was  better  for  the  body  to  perish  than  the 
soul." 

"  But  they  did  not  murder  her  right  here,  at  your  door." 

Esther  asked  this  with  pale  cheek  and  eyes  distended  with 
horror. 

"  No.  They  bound  and  gagged  her,  and  carried  her 
away.  I  do  not  know  certainly  how  they  disposed  of  her, 
but  I  think  she  was  drowned  in  the  Jordan.  If  so  she  is 
not  the  first  woman  who  has  found  a  grave  in  its  waters." 

"  But  how  came  she  here  at  your  house  ?  " 

"  She  was  not  at  my  house.  She  was  spending  the  night 
with  a  friend  of  her's  in  the  next  block,  and  about  mid 
night  was  decoyed  into  the  street  by  a  message  that  her 
father  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill  and  had  sent  for 
her." 

"I  can't  realize  that  such  crimes  are  committed  with  im 
punity — that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  law  to  punish 
murder  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Wallace,  we  have  laws  in  plenty  on  the 
statute  books  of  the  Territory.  The  only  trouble  is,  this  peo 
ple  live  above  the  law,  as  their  Prophet  says.  If  a  man  should 
kill  his  neighbor  without  being 'counseled  '  to  do  so  he 
might  be  tried  for  murder  and  possibly  executed,  but  kill 
ing  any  one  in  obedience  to  counsel  isn't  murder,  it  is  puri 
fying  Zion  or  destroying  the  body  to  save  the  soul." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  who  was  concerned  in  the  murder 
of  this  girl  ?  " 

"I  saw  those    who   bound   her   and   carried   her   awav' 


IN  THE  TOILS.  183 

There  were  four  of  them,  all  members  of  the  police  force. 
Two  of  the  men  I  know  very  well ;  the  other  two  I  have 
often  seen  on  the  street,  but  don't  know  their  names. 

"  Besides  these,  there  was  a  man  standing  at  each  end  of 
the  block,  to  keep  the  coast  clear,  as  I  suppose." 

u  How  came  you  to  see  all  this  ?  " 

"  My  room  fronts  on  the  street,  as  you  know.  I  was  in  bed, 
but  not  asleep,  and  when  I  heard  the  first  noise,  I  sprang 
up  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  full  moon  made 
the  whole  street  as  light  as  day,  and  the  men  were  near 
enough  for  me  to  recognize  them.  Fortunately  for  myself, 
I  had  no  light  burning  and  so  was  not  discovered  at  the 
window.  Otherwise  I  might  have  shared  Pauline's  fate. 
The  law  here  is  '  mind  your  own  business  and  ask  no  ques 
tions,'  and  we  are  repeatedly  told  that  if  we  should  see  any 
one  lying  dead  beside  the  way  as  we  walk  along  the  street, 
we  ought  to  pass  on  and  give  ourselves  no  concern  about 
it." 

"  But  you  say  you  heard  Pauline's  case  talked  over  some 
days  ago,  so  it  seems  her  fate  could  not  have  been  meant  to 
kept  secret." 

"  No.  Those  who  counselled  her  death  don't  wish  to 
conceal  the  fact  that  her  blood  has  been  shed  to  atone  for 
her  sins,  as  they  say,  but  in  view  of  fhe  possibility  that  the 
affair  might  be  inquired  into  some  day,  they  wish  to  guard 
against  eye-witnesses,  who  could  testify  to  the  identity  of 
the  murderers,  and  if  the  Priesthood  knew  what  I  have  told 
you  to-day,  my  fate  would  be  sealed.  My  husband  was 
away  from  home,  and  has  not  returned  yet,  and  I  shall  not 
dare  to  tell  him  anything  about  it  when  he  comes." 

"  He  would  not  betray  you  ?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not  intentionally,  but  he  would  be  in  con 
tinual  fear  that  the  secret  would  be  discovered,  and  the 


184  IN  THE  TOILS. 

distress  and  anxiety  that  he  could  not  hide  would  arouse 
suspicion." 

"  Did  he  know  anything  about  the  counsel  given  to  put 
Pauline  out  of  the  way  ?  " 

"  He  heard  the  the  matter  talked  about,  as  I  did,  but  I 
don't  think  it  was  decided  until  last  night,  when  they  called 
a  meeting  of  the  brethren  and  the  policemen  received  their 
orders." 

Esther  turned  very  pale. 

This  then  was  the  meeting  they  had  summoned  her  hus 
band  to  attend.  They  had  made  him  share  their  fearful 
secret,  and  so  far  implicated  him  in  their  crime.  He  had 
not  dared  to  protest,  and  henceforth  his  knowledge  of  the 
bloody  deed  would  make  him  their  slave. 

Mrs.  Nye  observed  her  friend's  agitation  and  easily 
guessed  the  cause.  She  had  been  among  the  Saints  long 
enough  to  know  that  it  was  the  policy  of  the  leaders  to 
implicate  their  followers  in  something  that  would  outlaw 
them,  and  prevent  their  return  to  the  world  they  had 
left. , 

Her  own  husband,  she  feared,  carried  more  than  one 
guilty  secret  locked  in  his  breast ;  and  Esther's  next  words 
were  the  echo  of  her  own  thoughts. 

"I  see  no  hope  of  escaping  from  this  den  of  bandits  and 
murderers.  All  of  us,  like  poor  Pauline,  know  too  much." 

"  That  is  true  enough,  but  to  me  it  is  sometimes  the  bit 
terest  thought  connected  with  my  fate,  that  my  friends  at 
home  who  know  I  am  held  an  unwilling  captive,  have  made 
no  effort  to  rescue  me." 

"If  you  have  found  means  to  communicate  with  your 
friends,  you  have  been  more  fortunate  than  I,  I  have  writ 
ten  many  times,  but  have  received  no  reply,  and  I  am  led 
to  believe  that  none  of  my  letters  entrusted  to  the  mails 
have  left  the  Territory." 


IN  THE  TOILS.  185 

"  I  don't  suppose  they  have.  The  correspondence  of 
suspected  persons  like  ourselves  is  always  taken  care  of; 
but  I  have  sent  my  letters  through  other  channels.  Com 
panies  of  California  emigrants  pass  this  way  every  summer, 
and  as  they  generally  stop  a  few  days  in  Salt  Lake,  I  have 
managed  to  get  some  of  them  to  carry  out  letters  for  me  to 
be  mailed  in  San  Francisco.  There  is  a  small  party  expect 
ed  here  this  week,  and  you  may  have  an  opportunity  of 
doing  the  same." 

"  I  hope  so.  I  would  like  at  least  to  get  a  letter  or  a  mes 
sage  to  the  parents  of  poor  Bessie  Gordon." 

"  That  is  the  girl  who  died  at  your  house  last  winter  ? 
You  incurred  great  risk  in  giving  her  shelter,  and  if  you 
want  her  parents  to  know  her  fate,  you  must  exercise  the 
utmost  caution.  There  is  no  power  here  that  can  save  you 
if  you  are  detected  in  the  attempt  to  expose  the  secrets  of 
our  prison-house." 

"  I  will  be  cautious,  but  I  have  not  given  up  my  faith  in 
God  yet.  I  believe  He  can  deliver  us  out  of  the  hands  of 
our  enemies  even  here." 

'  He  might  help  you  perhaps,  for  you  have  not  denied 
Him,  but  I  dare  not  ask  Him  to  help  me." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  feel  so  my  dear  friend.  I  wish  I  could 
show  you  how  wrong  you  are." 

"  Oh  I  am  all  wrong, — I  know  that  well  enough, — and  the 
wrong  began  the  day  I  consented  to  cast  in  my  lot  with  this 
horde  of  murderers,  but  we  wont  talk  about  that.  Have 
you  seen  Brother  Daniels  lately?  " 

"  No.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  afraid  he  too  has  fallen  a  victim  to  the 
doctrine  of  Blood  Atonement.  You  knew  that  he  had  put 
away  Jane,  his  second  wife  ?  " 

"  I  heard  something  about  it  a  few  weeks  ago,  but  I  have 


1 86  IN  THE  TOILS. 

not  seen  him  since  except  in  the  presence  of  people  in 
whose  hearing  I  did  not  like  to  question  him." 

"Well,  he  sent  her  away  last  month.  He  gave  her  a  good 
house  to  live  in,  and  made  ample  provision  for  her  and 
her  children,  but  he  was  rash  enough  or  brave  enough  to  tell 
his  real  reason  for  separating  from  her,  which  is  that  he  no 
longer  believes  in  polygamy, — thinks  it  to  be  of  the  devil, 
in  fact,  a  conclusion  that  any  body  might  reach  by  observ 
ing  its  practical  workings  fora  little  while." 

"Jane  takes  the  separation  very  much  to  heart,  and  is  loud 
in  her  compaints.  She  is  a  weak  and  silly  woman,  but  has  been 
very  fond  of  Daniels  in  her  way,  and  very  vain  of  the  fact 
that  he  treated  her  just  the  same  as  her  sister  Mary,  who  is  his 
lawful  wife  and  her  superior  in  every  respect.  I  think 
Daniels  counted  the  cost  fully  before  he  took  this  step. 
I  know  from  a  word  he  dropped-the  last  time  I  saw  him,  that 
he  realized  his  danger  and  there  is  but  too  much  reason  to 
fear  that  has  met  the  fate  he  foreboded.  I  cannot  learn 
that  he  has  been  seen  by  anybody  for  ten  days  past.  Mary 
is  sick,— unable  to  leave  her  room, — and  even  poor  silly 
Jane  carries  a  scared  face.  Daniels  is  missing,  but  Brigham 
Young  knows  what  has  become  of  him.  I  am  just  as  certain 
of  that  as  though  he  had  told  me  so  himself." 

"  I  hope  you  are  mistaken,  but  if  not,  Brother  Daniels 
has  done  better  to  die  for  the  truth  than  to  live  for  the  lie 
that  has  brought  this  whole  people  under  a  curse." 

"  I  think  so  too,  though  I  am  not  brave  enough  to  follow 
his  example.  The  continued  falsehood  of  my  daily  life  is 
in  itself  a  punishment  too  great  to  bear,  and  yet  I  have'nt 
the  courage  to  tell  the  truth.  I  hate  the  whole  abominable 
system  prevailing  here,  and  hate  myself  for  being  numbered 
with  such  a  people,  but  I  dare  not  say  so." 

If  anything  were  wanting  to  complete  the  dark  picture 
drawn  by  her  fears  the  night  before,  the  missing  touches  were 


IN   THE  TOILS.  187 

snpplied  for  Esther  by  the  recital  to  which  she  had  listened, 
and  her  heart  sank  like  lead  in  her  bosom  as  she  turned  her 
steps  homeward.  In  her  husbands'  present  morbid  state  of 
mind,  she  did  not  doubt  but  that  his  knowledge  of  the  deed 
of  blood  weighed  upon  his  conscience  like  actual  guilt. 
But  while  his  better  nature  as  yet  recoiled  from  the  horrid 
doctrine  of  Blood  Atonement,  he  held  fast  his  faith  in  Mor- 
monism  as  a  whole,  and  since  he  had  been  brought  to  ac 
cept  polygamy  as  a  Divine  ordinance,  he  might  come  in  time 
to  believe  it  his  duty  to  obey  counsel,  even  to  the  shedding 
of  blood. 

Her  friend's  words  still  rang  in  her  ears — "  Snared  in  a 
net  whose  meshes  cannot  be  broken."  There  was  no  hope 
for  her  husband,  none  for  herself,  and, — most  bitter  thought 
of  all, — none  for  her  child.  What  would  be  Winnie's  fate 
if  death  should  deprive  her  of  her  mother's  protection  ? 
Would  her  father  sacrifice  her  as  fathers  on  every  side  of 
them  were  sacrificing  their  daughters  ? 

She  shuddered,  and  tried  to  put  away  the  thought.  Her 
child,  her  only  one,  her  beautiful  darling,  it  was  a  cruel  deed 
to  bring  her  here. 

"And  yet,"  thought  the  unhappy  mother,  "  I  meant  right, 
God  knows  I  did.  Will  he  forsake  me  utterly  in  this  time 
of  sorest  need  ?  " 

Then  she  recalled  the  words  that  gave  her  strength  and 
comfort  at  the  first.  "When  thou  passest  through  the 
waters  I  will  be  with  thee,  and  through  the  floods,  they  shall 
not  overflow  thee.  When  thou  passest  through  the  fire  thou 
shalt  not  be  burned  neither  shall  the  flame  kindle  upon 
thee." 

A  calm  fell  upon  her  perturbed  spirit,  as  she  repeated 
to  herself  the  unfailing  promise  of  the  Mighty  One,  who 
alone  is  able  to  deliver  all  who  put  their  trust  in  Him.  Let 
those  who  doubt  the  book  in  which  His  promises  are  writ- 


i88  IN  THE  TOILS. 

ten,  explain,  if  they  can,  why  they  have  comforted  the 
desolate  and  despairing  everywhere  and  always  if  they  are 
not,  as  one  has  said  "  God's  good  tidings  spoken  afresh  in 
every  soul,  rather  than  the  mere  dying  echo  of  words  uttered 
centuries  ago." 

Esther  did  not  doubt,  but  like  all  of  us,  she  forgot  too 
often  the  unseen  presence  of  the  Divine  Helper.  As  she 
continued  her  walk  homeward,  with  a  firmer  step  and  a 
more  assured  bearing,  she  turned  over  in  her  mind  the  plans 
that  she  had  formed  and  dismissed  a  score  of  times  during 
the  last  twenty-four  hours,  for  escaping  from  the  valley 
with  her  child. 

Mrs.  Nye  said  that  companies  of  California  emigrants 
stopped  here  on  their  way  every  summer.  If  so,  might  it 
not  be  possible  to  get  out  of  the  country  under  their  pro 
tection?  She  had  money  put  away  safely,  double  the 
amount  she  would  need  to  take  her  home  by  the  way  of 
California,  and  she  need  not  therefore  excite  her  husband's 
suspicions  by  asking  him  for  so  large  a  sum.  The  money 
she  brought  with  her  had  most  of  it  been  in  his  hands  since 
they  came  to  Salt  Lake,  and  she  must  leave  it  behind  her 
if  she  made  good  her  escape,  but  she  did  not  give  that  a 
second  thought.  Her  flight,  supposing  flight  to  be  possible 
would  cost  her  far  more  than  the  money  she  brought  to 
the  Territory,  for  it  involved  the  Ios3  of  the  lover  of  her 
youth,  the  father  of  the  children,  the  husband  who,  not 
withstanding  the  gulf  that  separated  them,  was  still  un 
speakably  dear  to  her. 

As  his  face  rose  up  before  her,  her  resolution  faltered 
as  it  had  done  many  times  the  night  before,  while  she 
shaped  her  plans  as  he  slept  peacefully  beside  her. 

Winnie,  it  is  true,  was  only  eight  years  old,  and  the  evil 
day  might  be  far  off,  but  she  was  growing  too  beautiful  for 
her  own  safety  or  her  mother's  peace  of  mind;  too  beauti- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  189 

ful  to  be  left  here  where  a  young  girl  with  a  fair  face  was 
like  a  lamb  in  the  wolf's  den.  Twice  during  the  past 
winter,  Esther  had  seen  mere  children  of  fourteen,  dragged 
to  the  Endowment  House,  in  spite  of  their  own  terrors  and 
their  mother's  tears  and  protestations,  to  be  sealed  to  hoary- 
headed  members  of  the  Priesthood  who  had  half  a  score  of 
wives  already.  Anything  was  better  than  to  risk  such  a  fate 
for  her  own  darling,  and  since  she  was  convinced  that  her 
husband  was  now  so  completely  in  the  power  of  the  Church 
that  he  would  not  dare  to  withhold  his  child,  if  ordered  to 
sacrifice  her;  the  only  hope  left  to  the  wife  and  mother, 
was  that  of  escaping  by  flight,  and  this  hope  hung  on  a 
very  slender  thread.  Many  had  made  the  attempt  and  met 
their  fate  at  the  hands  of  the  Destroying  Angels  before 
reaching  the  borders  of  the  Territory. 

Others  had  been  followed  two  and  three  hundred  miles 
outside  of  the  Territory  and  finally  overtaken  and  killed, 
but  a  few  had  succeeded,  and  their  success  encouraged  her 
to  believe  that  escape  was  possible. 

At  any  rate  she  would  try.  There  were  no  perils  she 
would  not  dare, — no  hardships  she  would  not  endure, — for 
Winnie's  sake. 

This  was  her  final  resolve  as  she  drew  near  her  home, 
when  raising  her  eyes,  she  saw  her  daughter  running  to  meet 
her.  The  little  girl's  cheeks  were  flushed  and  she  looked 
frightened  and  distressed,  as  she  caught  her  mother's  hand 
and  clung  to  it  for  protection. 

"  Oh  mamma,"  she  panted,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak," 
who  do  you  think  is  at  our  house?  That  dark  man  that 
came  to  see  us  in  New  York,  and  persuaded  papa  to  go  to 
Utah.  I  was  in  the  room  when  he  came,  and  papa  made  me 
go  and  give  him  my  hand,  and  he  held  me  fast  and  kissed 
me.  I  was  so  afraid  of  him,  I  felt  as  if  I  should  die,  I  did 
indeed  marama,  and  he  would  not  let  me  go,  but  held  my 


190  IN  THE  TOILS. 

hand  and  said  I  had  grown  a  large  girl  and  he  smoothed  my 
hair  and  said  how  pretty  I  was,  and  that  he  meant  to  ask 
papa  for  me  by  and  by  ;  and  he  knew  papa  would  give  me 
to  him ;  and  papa  looked, — oh  I  can't  tell  you  how  he 
looked,  but  he  was  as  pale  as  he  used  to  be  when  he  was 
sick,  and  he  never  said  one  word.  I  ran  out  of  doors  as 
soon  as  he  lei  go  my  hand.  I  can't  help  it  if  papa  does 
punish  me,  for  I  could  not  stay  in  the  house  another 
minute." 

"Hush  dear;  speak  lower.  Your  papa  will  not  punish 
you." 

"And  you  won't  let  him  give  me  away  to  that  dreadful 
man?" 

"No,  never." 

Esther  spoke  with  an  assurance  that  surprised  herself,  as 
she  held  the  small,  trembling  hand  that  lay  in  her  own  with 
a  firm  clasp.  She  would  save  her  child.  She  could  save 
her.  Maternal  love  made  her  strong  enough  to  face  the 
whole  Mormon  priesthood,  and  in  her  heart  she  defied  them 
She  would  watch  over  Winnie  night  and  day  until  the  hour 
came,  as  it  surely  would  come,  when  they  could  fly  from  this 
accursed  spot.  They  might  perish  by  the  way,  but  death 
would  be  a  thousand  times  better  than  such  a  life  as  they 
must  look  forward  to  if  they  remained. 

Harwood's  words  which  any  where  else  would  have  been 
taken  as  harmless  pleasantry,  had  only  too  much  meaning 
in  them  when  spoken  here. 

Esther  remembered  with  a  shiver  of  fear  and  loathing  the 
way  in  which  his  baleful  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  beautiful  child 
as  well  as  on  herself  when  she  last  saw  him.  He  had  been 
their  evil  genius  from  the  first.  No  one  else  could  have  in 
fluenced  Wallace  as  he  had,  and  now  his  power  over  him 
would  be  greater  than  ever. 

"If  Harwood  should  demand  me  as  well  as  Winnie  would 


IN  THE  TOILS.  191 

Charles  dare  to   refuse  him  I  wonder?"  she  asked  herself 
bitterly. 

Hitherto  she  had  thought  little  of  herself,  or  of  any  pos 
sible  personal  danger.  Her  fears  were  for  her  husband  and 
child,  and  even  now  she  did  not  for  a  moment  seriously 
entertain  the  thought  that  the  same  fate  she  dreaded  for 
Winnie  might  befall  herself. 

And  yet,  facts  had  come  to  her  knowledge  within  the  past 
few  weeks  that  might  have  aroused  her  fears.  A  near 
neighbor  of  theirs  was  sent  out  on  a  mission  in  the  spring, 
and  perished  mysteriously  on  his  way  to  the  States.  It  was 
whispered  about  that  he  did  not  obey  counsel,  but  a  clearer 
explanation  of  his  disappearance  was  afforded  when  it  came 
to  light  that  his  young  and  beautiful  wife  was  sealed  to  one 
high  in  authority  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  the  Territory. 

It  was  plain  that  a  wife  had  no  more  assurance  of  safety 
than  any  one  else,  if  she  was  coveted  by  one  of  the  rulers 
of  the  people,  and  Esther  Wallace,  in  the  prime  of  her 
glorious  beauty,  might  well  have  trembled  for  herself. 

As  they  walked  homeward  together  hand  in  hand,  the 
mother  and  daughter  formed  as  perfect  a  picture  as  any 
ever  painted.  Winnie's  childish  loveliness,  her  flowing, 
brown  curls,  violet  eyes  and  dimpled  cheek  and  chin  never 
appeared  so  bewitching  as  when  contrasted  with  the  graver 
beauty  of  her  mother's  face.  Both  were  too  fair  to  look 
upon  for  their  own  safety.  Well  may  Esther  pray  that  He 
who  walked  beside  his  children  in  the  fiery  furnace  would 
walk  with  them  to-day.  While  perils  of  which  she  was 
conscious,  lay  before  them  perils  of  which  she  knew  nothing 
were  thickening  around  them.  Women  as  pure,  children  as 
innocent,  were  being  sacrificed  day  after  day  to  the  Moloch 
set  up  in  these  valleys.  A  man  'cruel  as  death,  remorseless 
as  the  grave,  reigned  over  the  people  and  in.  his  hands  they 
were  as  he  himself  declared,  as  clay  in  the  hands  of  the  pot  - 


192  IN  THE  TOILS. 

ter.  Families  were  broken  up,  homes  made  desolate,  hus 
bands  robbed  of  their  wives  and  parents  of  their  children, 
to  furnish  victims  for  the  unclean  altar  he  had  reared. 

Will  Esther  and  her  child  escape,  or  will  they  share  the 
fate  of  those  around  them?  We  shall  see. 

When  Mrs.  Wallace  and  Winnie  reached  home,  they 
found  the  unwelcome  guest  still  there,  though  they  had 
turned  aside  and  taken  a  long  walk  to  avoid  meeting 
him. 

He  greeted  Esther  with  the  assured  manner  of  an  old 
acquaintance,  and  congratulated  her  on  her  safe  arrival 
in  Zion. 

He  was  as  bland,  as  courteous  and  smooth-spoken  as 
ever,  but  his  assumption  of  familiar  and  friendly  relations 
with  the  whole  family  augured  ill,  for  it  showed  that  he 
dared  to  be  familiar  while  knowing  that  to  all,  except  the 
head  of  the  house,  his  visits  were  most  unwelcome. 
Esther,  in  spite  of  her  dread  and  detestation  of  him,  felt 
compelled  to  receive  him  with  civility  as  her  husband's 
guest,  and  forced  herself,  though  with  difficulty,  to  go 
through  the  forms  of  courtesy  in  returning  his  salutation 
and  answering  his  questions.  She  might  not  have  suc 
ceeded  so  well  in  the  attempt,  if  she  had  not  caught  an 
appealing  look  from  her  husband ; — a  look  that  said  plainly, 
"  I  am  in  his  power,  for  my  sake  do  not  offend  him." 

After  a  few  common-place  remarks,  Harwood  said : 

"This  meeting  with  old  friends  gives  me  the  greatest 
pleasure,  but  I  regret  to  tell  you  that  I  have  come  to  the 
Territory  as  the  bearer  of  evil  tidings.  It  is  no  secret  of 
course  that  the  people  of  the  world,  and  more  especially  the 
American  people,  are  unfriendly  to  us.  It  is  now  as  it  was 
in  the  beginning, — '  I  have"  chosen  you  out  of  the  world 
therefore  the  world  hateth  you.'  We  have  done  nothing  to 
deserve  the  ill  will  shown  us  ;  on  the  contrary,  we  have 


IN  THE  TOILS.  193 

borne  our  injuries  in  silence,  and  when  they  hav*.  perse 
cuted  us  in  one  city  we  have  fled  to  another.  We  hoped, 
when  we  were  driven  from  our  home  in  Illinois,  that  we 
would  have  rest  for  a  season. 

To  find  this  rest  we  penetrated  into  the  heart  of  the 
desert,  and  made  ourselves  homes  where  none  had  courage 
to  go  before  us.  We  thought  that  in  this  savage  wilderness 
there  would  be  nothing  to  tempt  the  cupidity  of  our  enemies, 
and  that  they  would  hesitate  to  follow  us  so  far  to  gratify 
their  malice,  but  it  seems  we  have  made  a  mistake  and  at 
this  very  hour  troops  sent  by  the  authorities  at  Washington 
are  on  their  way,  to  destroy  our  homes  and  drive  us  again 
into  the  desert,  or  if  we  resist,  to  shed  our  blood  on  the 
soil  which  we  have  redeemed  from  desolation  and  made  to 
blossom  as  the  rose." 

"  I  hope  you  may  be  misinformed,"  Wallace  ventured  to 
observe.  "  It  seems  hardly  creditible  that  the  Government 
should  invade  a  peaceful  Territory  with  troops  without  any 
pretext  whatever." 

"  Oh  !  a  pretext  is  not  wanting,  it  never  is,  when  the 
children  of  this  world  wish  to  harass  the  children  of  light. 
Eighteen  centuries  ago  a  blameless  man  was  hounded  to 
death  with  the  cry  '  We  found  this  fellow  perverting  the 
nation,  and  forbidding  to  give  tribute  to  Caesar,"  and  to-day 
this  people  are  accused  of  treason,  and  why?  Because  for 
sooth  President  Young  has  said  what  preachers  all  over  the 
United  States  say  every  Sabbath  in  the  year,  without  let 
or  hindrance ; — that  the  laws  of  God  are  above  the  laws  of 
man  and  should  be  obeyed  in  preference  to  them." 

"  And  troops  are  to  be  sent  here  to  chastise  us  for 
this  ?  " 

"  Yes  the  thing  was  planned  secretly,  and  I  only  learned  of 
it  the  last  moment.  I  have  traveled  night  and  day  to  give 
President  Young  timely  warning.  " 


194  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  And  what  does  he  propose  to  do  about  it?  " 

u  We  don't  know  as  yet.  If  I  were  asked  for  counsel,  I 
should  say:  'Don't  be  driven  any  farther.  Stand  here  and 
die  if  needs  be,  like  men,  but  don't  fly  like  frigthened  sheep.' 
That  would  be  the  counsel  of  flesh  and  blood  at  any  rate, 
but  our  president  waits  for  Divine  direction,  and  if,  it  is 
revealed  to  him  that  we  should  not  resist  this  most  un 
righteous  invasion,  then  there  will  be  nothing  left  us  but 
flight ;  but  mark  my  words !  If  we  are  compelled  to  leave 
this  city,  we  will  make  a  Moscow  of  it.  Before  the  homes 
that  we  have  reared  shall  again  become  the  prey  of  our 
enemies,  we  will  burn  every  building  and  destroy  every 
green  thing,  and  leave  behind  us  only  the  desert  that  we 
found  at  the  first.  " 

Wallace  at  these  words  glanced  involuntarily  through  the 
open  window  towards  the  new  house,  now  nearly  finished. 

Harwood,  observing  the  looks  said  : 

"  It  seems  hard  to  you,  no  doubt,  Brother  Wallace,  to 
think  of  putting  the  torch  to  that  house  that  you  have  just 
built  at  such  a  great  cost,  but  those  who  would  share  the 
final  triumph  of  the  Saints  must  share  their  present  sacrifices. 
I  am  very  sorry  however  that  you  must  lose  so  much,  and 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  I  think  it  was  a  little  unwise 
to  put  so  much  money  into  a  building.  " 

"Perhaps  it  was,  but  I  thought  as  you  did  that  the  Saints 
had  found  a  resting  place  at  last.  None  of  us  are  above 
the  possibility  of  making  mistakes  yet  it  seems.  " 

There  was  the  slightest  possible  touch  of  sarcasm  in 
Wallace's  voice,  but  the  Elder  did  not  appear  to  preceive  it. 

"  Well  never  mind,"  he  answered,  "  we  who  forsake  what 
we  have  here,  shall  receive  a  thousand  fold  in  the  world  to 
come,  whether  it  be  houses  or  lands,  husbands  or  wives 
sons  or  daughters, — and  now  good  night  and  good  bye  for 
I  have  urgent  business  which  I  have  been  near  forgetting 


IN  THE  TOILS.  195 

in  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  all  again,  I  may  not  see  you 
again  until  the  day  of  battle  or  flight,  whichever  the  Lord 
orders,  and  meantime  I  shall  be  in  places  of  danger,  so 
pray  for  me.  " 

He  held  out  a.  hand  to  each  in  turn ; — a  hand  taken  most 
unwillingly  by  two  of  them  at'  least,  — smoothed  Winnie's 
bright  curls  again  as  he  passed  out,  saying,  "  the  Lord  bless 
the  child,  "  and  was  gone. 

Wallace  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  the  gate  closed 
behind  him. 

From  some  cause,  it  was  evident  that  he  did  not  now 
regard  Brother  Harwood  just  as  he  had  done  when  he  re 
ceived  him  as  a  messenger  from  heaven,  but  he  was  none 
the  less  in  his  power. 

Esther  would  have  given  much  to  learn  what  had  passed 
between  them  before  she  came  home,  but  she  knew  it  was 
idle  to  expect  any  confidences  from  her  husband  on  that 
subject.  Neither  did  she  expect  he  would  tell  her  in  what 
light  he  viewed  the  coming  of  the  troops,  but  she  thought 
nevertheless  that  she  detected  a  glean  of  hope  in  his  eye 
when  Harwood  first  spoke. 

It  might  be  that  he  too  was  revolving  in  his  mind  the 
possibility  of  escape  ; — but  no, — his  faith  in  Mormonism  was 
too  deeply  rooted  to  be  destroyed  at  once.  She  must  wait, 
for  years  it  might  be,  for" such  a  consummation. 

Then  after  all,  supposing  that  Harwood  told  the  truth  and 
that  United  States  troops  were  really  on  their  way  to  the 
Territory,  would  any  of  the  disaffected  be  able  to  profit  by 
their  coming?  The  talk  about  making  a  Moscow  of  the  city 
was  most  likely  mere  bluster,  but  it  would  be  quite  con 
sistent  with  the  usual  practice  of  the  Mormon  leaders  to 
send  the  women  and  children  away,  before  the  troops  ar 
rived,  together  with  such  of  the  brethren  as  they  could  not 
rely  on  fully. 


196  IN  THE  TOILS. 

Yet  in  spite  of  all  this,  the  mere  fact  that  the  government 
thought  it  worth  while  to  investigate,  and  if  need  be  punish 
the  conduct  of  the  Mormon  leaders,  was  a  hopeful  sign  for 
Esther  and  her  fellow  captors.  If  federal  troops  were  sent  to 
Utah,  they  surely  would  not  return  without  making  some 
effort  to  accomplish  the  object  for  which  they  came,  and 
through  them  the  authorities  at  Washington  could  not  fail  to 
learn  of  the  crimes  of  the  Mormon  priesthood,  and  the 
Avretched  state  of  their  victims. 

If  the  truth  could  but  be  known,  they  could  have  help  at 
once  ; — so  thought  many  who  held  to  the  simple  faith  that 
governments  are  instituted  among  men  to  protect  the  rights 
of  the  governed  and  punish  wrong-doers.  How  great 
the  mistake  they  made,  the  history  of  after  years  will  tell. 

The  rumor  that  the  troops  were  coming  spread  rapidly, 
and  among  the  few  who  dared  trust  each  other  with  their 
hopes  of  escape,  there  were  secret  and  hurried  conferences 
as  to  what  it  was  best  to  do,  or  rather  what  was  practicable. 
The  first  idea  that  presented  itself,  and  the  only  one  that 
finally  appeared  tenable,  was  to  let  their  situation  be 
known  to  the  officer  in  command  before  he  reached  the 
territory. 

But  who  would  be  the  bearer  of  the  message.  The  risk 
was  great,  but  a  volunteer  was  found  in  the  person  of 
a  voung  man  named  Harris,  who,  though  brought  up 
in  the  Mormon  Church,  hated  the  Priesthood  with  a  per 
fect  hatred ;  and  he  had  cause.  While  yet  a  boy  he  had 
seen  his  aged  mother  turne^l  out  of  doors  to  beg  or  starve 
because  she  resisted  the  introduction  of  a  plural  wife  into  the 
household,  and  his  sister  sold  into  polygamy  by  her  father 
and  sealed  to  a  wretch  wliose  brutal  treatment  caused  her 
death.  Later,  his  betrothed  wife  was  taken  from  him  and 
given  to  an  elder  in  the  church  and  his  own  life  threatened 
because  he  dared  to  remonstrate. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  197 

He  had  nothing  to  live  for,  he  said,  and  there  was  no  one 
left  to  mourn  for  him  if  he  perished.  Besides,  he  knew 
every  foot  of  the  country,  every  stream  and  canyon,  and 
could  succeed  in  the  venture  if  success  were  possible  to  any 
one. 

He  would  carry  only  a  verbal  message.  If  overtaken  and 
searched  no  scrap  of  writing  would  be  found  to  com- 
promse  anyone  else.  He  had  learned  caution  in  a  bitter 
school,  and  all  of  them  felt  that  he  could  be  trusted  when 
the  time  should  come  to  make  the  attempt,  but  as  yet  noth 
ing  definite  was  known  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  troops,  or 
when  they  might  be  expected  to  reach  the  Territory. 

The  Mormon  leaders  were  without  doubt  fully  informed, 
but  in  private  conversation  and  in  their  public  addresses  as 
they  told  the  people  whatever  happened  to  suit  their  own 
purpose  best,  so  that  there 'was  no  hope  of  learning  the 
facts  through  them. 

Meantime,  those  who  cherished  a  hope  that  deliverance 
was  coming  could  only  communicate  with  each'other  under 
the  greatest  difficulties.  If  half  a  dozen  of  them  had  met  at 
one  place,  upon  any  pretext,  suspicion  would  have  been  at 
once  aroused,  and  the  spies  of  the  church  would  have  been 
kept  so  constantly  on  their  track  that  there  could  be 'no 
move  made  by  them,  which  would  not  bj  reported  at  once 
at  headquarters.  As  might  be  expected,  those  who  laid 
plans  for  escaping  from  the  tyranny  of  the  Priesthood  were 
mostly  women,  but  there  were  a  number  of  men,  some  of 
whom  had  been  driven  to  desperation  by  the  wrongs  inflicted 
upon  them,  while  others,  who  had  embraced  Mormonism  in 
good  faith  and  from  pure  motives,  had  renounced  the  im 
posture  in  their  hearts  as  soon  as  their  eyes  were  opened  by 
their  experiences  in  Zion. 

In  the    latter  class,  honest,  impetuous  Brother  Daniels 


198  IN   THE  TOILS. 

might  have  been  included,  but  the  weeks  were  lengthening 
into  months,  and  still  there  were  no  tidings  from  him. 

His  wife  had  risen  from  her  sick  bed,  the  shadow  of  her 
former  self.  Whether  she  knew  the  worst  concerning  his 
fate,  or  whether  she  only  feared  it,  none  could  tell.  To  the 
few  who  ventured  to  question  her  about  his  absence  she 
gave  no  answer  except  that  she  had  not  heard  from  him. 

What  mortal  terror  sealed  her  lips,  could  only  be  guessed 
by  those  who  pitied  her  grief,  but  were  powerless  as  she  her 
self  was  to  cope  with  the  tyranny  that  held  them  all  in  its 
iron  grasp. 

"  Dead  men  tell  no  tales,"  had  long  been  a  favorite  maxim 
with  those  in  power,  and  their  crimes  were  most  easily  hid 
den  by  burying  witness  and  victim  in  the  same  grave. 

The  summer  was  passing,  and  rumors  of  the  threatened 
invasion  abounded,  but  nothing  more  definite  was  known 
on  the  subject  in  August  than  in  June.  The  Mormon  lead 
ers  made  it  a  text  for  endless  tirades  against  the  Govern 
ment,  and  there  was  much  loud  talking  about  what  "  this 
people  "  would  do  in  case  the  authorities  at  Washington 
dared  to  lay  a  finger  on  them,  but  no  one  seemed  to  know 
on  what  the  reports  they  heard  were  based. 

Meanwhile,  another  rumor  began  to  circulate  concerning 
the  coming  of  a  very  large  emigrant  train  bound  for  Cali 
fornia.  It  was  said  that  many  persons  in  this  train  were 
from  Missouri,  and  had  helped  to  drive  the  Mormons  from 
the  State,  and  hints  were  thrown  out  that  they  meant  to  make 
trouble  for  the  Saints  as  they  passed  through  the  Territory. 

So  much  was  said  to  their  prejudice  before  they  arrived( 
that  a  strong  feeling  against  them  prevailed  among  the  peo 
ple  when  they  finally  entered  the  city,  but  there  was  nothing 
in  their  conduct  during  the  few  days  they  remained  to 
justify  the  reports  that  had  been  so  industriously  circulated. 
Nearly  all  the  men  in  the  train  had  families  with  them,  and 


IN  THE  TOILS.  199 

everything  in  their  appearance  and  manners  indicated  that 
they  belonged  to  the  better  class  of  society.  Some  of  those 
who  had  been  looking  forward  to  the  coming  of  United 
States  troops  as  affording  a  possible  opportunity  of  escape 
from  the  Territory,  visited  the  camp  of  the  emigrants  in  the 
hope  of  hearing  favorable  news,  or  of  inducing  the  leaders 
of  the  company  to  aid  them  in  some  way. 

Among  these  was  Mrs.  Wallace,  whose  situation  was  every 
day  becoming  more  intolerable.  Her  husband,  while  in  a 
measure  convinced  that  he  had  been  grossly  deceived  by 
Elder  Harwood,  was  nevertheless  unwilling  to  give  up  his 
faith  in  what  those  around  him  designated  "  the  principles 
of  Mormonism."  Just  what  this  expression  meant,  he  perhaps 
could  not  have  defined  any  more  clearly  than  his  brethren, 
but  like  them,  when  confronted  with  damaging  facts  in  the 
history  of  Mormonism,  he  took  refuge  in  the  assertion  that 
its  principles  were  true. 

Esther  could  not  make  up  her  mind  how  much  he  doubted 
or  how  much  he  still  believed,  but  she  saw  plainly  that  he 
was  more  than  ever  in  the  power  of  the  Priesthood,  and 
that  he  lived  in  continual  fear  of  incurring  the  displeasure 
of  the  Church — a  myth  behind  which  could  be  found  only  the 
one  man  who  held  the  keys  of  power. 

She  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  feeling,  sometimes 
amounting  to  abject  terror,  which  seemed  to  govern  him  of 
late.  In  his  present  state  of  mind,  he  doubtless  regarded 
himself  as  being  in  some  sense  an  accomplice  in  the  murder 
of  the  poor  little  Jewess,  and  the  fearful  oaths  he  had  taken 
in  the  Endowment  House  fettered  him,  but  it  seemed  as 
though  there  must  have  been  some  still  stronger  influence 
brought  to  bear  upon  him  to  bring  his  naturally  strong  and 
courageous  spirit  into  such  a  state  of  absolute  subjection. 

And  if  he  felt  his  chains,  it  was  equally  evident  that  his 
masters  felt  their  power,  and  took  pleasure  in  exercising  it. 


2OO  IN    THE    TOILS. 

Their  new  house  in  which  Esther  had  promised  herself 
as  much  comfort  as  it  was  possible  to  take  in  such  a  country 
appeared   to  belong  less  to  them  than  to  the  Mormon  lead 
ers,  who  came  and  went  in  the  most  unceremonious  manner 
invited  themselves  to  dinner  or  supper  with  a  freedom  that 
would  have  astonished  her,  if  she  could  have  been  astonished 
at  anything,  and  talked  to  her  husband  and  herself  in  a  way 
that  would  have  warranted  their  being  ordered  out  of  doors 
in  any  civilized  community. 

Wallace  writhed  under  these  inflictions ;  of  that  his  wife 
was  certain,  but  he  dared  not  give  the  slightest  sign  of  what 
he  felt.  Esther  planned  her  visit  to  the  emigrants'  camp 
without  consulting  him,  and  went  without  his  knowledge, 
for  she  wanted  him  to  be  able  to  give  his  inquisitors  a  truth 
ful  answer  to  that  effect,  when  they  should  call  him  to 
account,  as  she  knew  they  would. 

When  she  reached  the  camp,  she  was  agreeably  surprised 
to  find  a  class  of  persons  as  different  from  the  rude  pioneers 
she  had  expected  to  meet  as  from  the  bandit  horde  the  Mor 
mon  leaders  had  warned  the  people  against.  The  emigrants 
were  men  of  wealth,  judging  from  their  equipments,  and 
their  wives  were  refined  and  Christian  ladies. 

There  were  a  large  number  of  children  in  the  camp  of  all 
ages,  from  the  babe  in  arms  to  boys  and  girls  in  their  teens. 
Among  the  latter,  Esther  noticed  particularly  a  beautiful 
dark-eyed  girl  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  whose  face  called  up  a 
memory  of  some  one  who  had  been  connected  with  her  past 
life,  though  she  could  not  tell  when  or  where. 

The  longer  she  studied  the  face,  the  more  the  likeness 
impressed  her,  until  finally  she  called  the  young  girl  to  her 
and  asked  her  name. 

"  Esther  Cleveland,"  was  the  answer. 

"Esther!  Why  that  is  my  name,"  Mrs.  Wallace  said. 
"  Do  you  know  for  whom  you  were  named?  " 


IN  THE  TOILS.  201 

"  For  mamma's  cousin  who  lives  at  the  North.  I  have 
never  seen  her,  but  mamma  used  to  love  her  dearly  when 
she  was  a  little  girl,  and  wanted  me  called  after  her."  A 
light  broke  upon  Esther's  mind  at  those  words,  and  with  it  a 
hope  that  made  her  heart  beat  fast.  The  girl's  face  was  the 
face  of  her  cousin,  Margaret  Pryor,  as  she  last  saw  it  nearly 
twenty  years  ago. 

Margaret  was  the  daughter  of  the  Robert  Pryor  mentioned 
in  the  former  part  of  this  narrative,  and  at  the  death  of  her 
own  mother  she  was  consigned  to  the  care  of  Esther's 
parents,  and  remained  with  them  a  number  of  years.  To 
the  little  Esther,  she  had  been  an  elder  sister,  her  protector 
always,  and  the  confidant  of  her  childish  troubles.  If 
Margaret  were  here,  she  would  dare  to  tell  her  the  whole 
painful  truth,  and  let  her  know  why  she  must  leave  her 
husband  and  fly  from  the  home  that  was  no  longer  a  place 
of  peace  or  safety. 

Margaret  would  help  her,  if  any  one  could,  and  with 
something  of  the  same  feeling  of  reliance  with  which  she 
used  to  go  to  her  in  childhood,  she  sought  her  now. 

Her  cousin's  unbounded  astonishment  at  finding  the 
beautiful  and  gifted  Esther  Pryor,  the  little  "  Queen  Esther" 
of  her  chidhood,  among  the  Mormons,  soon  gave  way  to 
indignant  pity  as  she  listened  to  her  story. 

"  You  shall  not  spend  another  night  under  that  roof  or 
within  the  reach  of  those  wretches,"  were  her  first  words 
when  Esther  finished  her  recital.  "  I  will  go  with  you  at 
once  and  bring  your  child  and  good  old  Aunt  Eunice  to  the 
camp." 

"  No,  no,"  Esther  interposed  hastily,  "that  would  defeat 
all  my  plans  of  escape,  and  involve  not  only  you  but  this 
whole  company,  in  the  greatest  danger.  You  don't  know  the 
people  we  have  to  deal  with.  My  only  hope  is  to  get  away 
from  the  city  before  you  start,  and  join  you  beyond  the 


-02  IN  THE  TOILS. 

limits  of  the  Territory.  We  have  an  acquaintance  living  pn 
a  farm  fifty  miles  away,  with  whose  family  we  have 
exchanged  one  or  two  visits.  Mr.  Wallace  has  already  pro 
posed  that  Winnie  and  I  should  spend  a  part  of  August 
there,  as  he  thinks  we  are  both  suffering  from  the  effects  of 
the  hot  weather.  He  does  not  expect  to  go  with  us,  but  I  am 
to  take  Aunt  Eunice  and  a  boy  who  works  for  us.  This  boy 
I  have  taken  care  of  through  a  severe  illness — saved  his  life, 
he  says,  and  I  can  depend  on  his  attachment  and  fidelity. 
Now  hear  what  I  propose  to  do. 

"I  have  money  put  away  for  just  such  an  emergency,  and 
it  will  not  be  difficult  to  conceal  provisions  enough  in  the 
carriage  to  last  us  a  couple  of  weeks.  To-night  I  will  tell 
Mr.  Wallace  I  have  decided  to  take  Winnie  out  to  Henly's, 
and  think  we  had  best  start  to-morrow.  Early  in  the  even 
ing  I  will  send  Aunt  Eunice  out  to  make  some  purchases 
and  she  must  manage  to  see  you.  You  can  find  out  before 
that  time  just  what  route  your  party  intends  to  take,  and 
then  I  can  make  arrangements  for  joining  you.  My  hus 
band  will  not  expect  me  home  in  two  or  three  weeks,  and 
will  not  be  surprised  if  he  does  not  hear  from  me  in  that 
time,  as  I  could  have  no  opportunity  of  sending  him  a  letter 
except  by  some  of  the  farmers,  who  are  likely  to  be  too  busy 
this  month  to  go  to  town. 

"I  know  where  to  find  a  guide  who  will  meet  me  at  a  safe 
distance  from  the  city,  and  conduct  me  to  you  by  a  route 
that  will  expose  us  to  the  fewest  chances  of  capture." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  after  all  the  precautions  you 
are  going  to  take,  there  will  yet  be  a  chance  for  the  Mor 
mons  to  capture  you  and  bring  you  back?" 

Esther  smiled    faintly: 

"  I  have  lived  among  the  Mormons  less  than  a  year,  but 
thaj;  is  long  enough  for  me  to  find  out  that  the  chances  are 
almost  all  against  me.  I  am  willing  however  to  run  all 


IN    THE  TOILS.  203 

risks,  while  there  remains  a  possibility  of  making  good  my 
escape.  If  I  had  only  myself  to  think  of  I  should  remain 
with  my  husband  and  endure  whatever  might  befall  me,  but 
I  have  no  right  to  neglect  an  opportunity  of  getting  Winnie 
away  from  here." 

"  I  should  think  not!  And  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is  Esther, 
I  believe,  as  I  said  at  first,  you  had  better  come  right  to  us, 
and  go  with  us  openly.  We  are  a  strong  party ; — all  the 
men  are  well  armed,  and  I  know  if  we  are  followed  and 
attacked  we  can  fight  our  way  out  of  the  Territory,  for  these 
miserable  Mormons  are  just  as  cowardly  as  they  are  wicked." 

Esther  again  shook  her  head  sadly : 

"  It  would  be  madness  to  attempt  any  such  thing,"  she 
said,  "  The  Mormons  are  far  stronger  than  you  think,  and 
not  lacking  in  courage ;  at  least  not  here  on  their  own  soil. 
The  very  children  are  trained  to  the  use  of  fire-arms,  and 
mere  boys  of  twelve  and  fourteen  mount  their  horses  and 
take  their  guns  to  accompany  older  persons  on  expeditions 
full  of  difficulty  and  danger.  I  hope  most  earnestly  that 
nothing  will  happen  to  involve  you  in  trouble  with  the 
people  of  the  Territory,  for  they  are  none  too  well  disposed 
toward  you  now." 

"  Still  somehow,  I  can't  feel  afraid  .of  them.  They  don't 
look  so  very  formidable,  and  I  think  I  could  trust  my  hus 
band  alone  to  defend  me  against  a  score  of  them." 

Alas!  If  the  beautiful  woman  who  spoke  so  proudly  and 
confidently  of  the  one  in  whose  strong  right  arm  she  trusted 
could  have  looked  into  the  future,  she  would  have  prayed 
to  fall  into  any  other  hands  rather  than  those  of  this  people 
of  whom  she  'could  not  feel  afraid;' — but  no  foreshadow 
ing  of  the  doom  awaking  her  loved  ones,  no  presentiment 
of  her  own  dreadful,  fate,  oppressed  her,  and  when  she  took 
leave  of  her  cousin  for  the  night,  it  was  with  the  anticipa- 


?o4  IN  THE  TOILS. 

tion  of  carrying  her  and  her  child   away  without  difficulty 
from  the  place  that  was  so  hateful  to  her. 

Soon  after  sunset  Esther,  after  giving  Aunt  Eunice  all 
necessary  instructions  dispatched  her  to  the  camp  of  the  emi 
grants  according  to  agreement.  In  about  an  hour  she 
returned,  overflowing  with  wrath. 

"  I'se  done  tried  my  best  Mis?  Esther,"  she  said,  "  but 
dem  ar  good-fer-nothin'  perlice  is  a  watchin'  ebery  street 
an'  corner.  Fust  I  took  de  straight  road  to  de  camp  an' 
wor  walkin'  along  peaceable  like,  when  one  o'  dose  yer 
critters  wheels  round  in  front  o'  me  an'  says,  '  you  can't  go 
there.'  " 

"'Go  whar?'  says  I. 

"  '  Why  to  the  camp.' 

"''  I'se  boun'  to  go  jess  dar,'  says  I,  'cause  one  o'  dem 
ladies  sold  me  a  shawl,  an'  I'se  gwine  to  fotch  it.' 

"I  hope  de  Lord  won't  count  notin' agin  me  fur  tellin' 
sech  a  lie,  'cause  I  could'nt  think  o'  nothin'  else. 

"'You  go  long,'  he  says,  'I'll  see  about  the  shawl.' 

"  Well  den,  I  goes  back  an'  comes  up  another  street,  but 
it  war'nt  no  sort  o'  use,  Dey  stopped  me  agen  an'  when  I 
begins  to  tell  about  de  shawl  I'd  paid  fur,  one  of  'em 
says: — 'I  know  her,  its  that  Wallace's  nigger,  and  I  know 
she's  a  lying,'  and  den  he  lifted  his  club  an'  says,  '  You 
start  yourself  home — mighty  quick  too.' 

"  Sech  a  triflin'  low-lived  critter,  to  talk  about  Wallace's 
niggar  !  Let  me  ketch  him  roun'  dis  place,  an'  ef  I  don't 
heave  a  pot  o'  bilin'  water  on  him,  it  '11  be  'cause  he  makes 
hisself  skeerse  mighty  suddent." 

Aunt  Eunice  puased  for  breath  here  and  wiped  the  per 
spiration  from  her  streaming  face,  Her  mistress  had  not 
heard  her  last  words.  After  the  first  throb  of  fear  lest  her 
plans  were  known,  she  remembered  having  heard  that  the 
police  guarded  the  camp  of  the  strangers  at  night.  She 


IN  THE  TOILS.  205 

wondered  that  she  had  not  thought  of  this  1  efore.  In  the 
morning,  she  would  send  Aunt  Eunice  again.  She  could 
contrive  some  plausible  errand,  and  as  people  were  coming 
and  going  at  all  hours  during  the  day,  it  was  not  likely  she 
would  be  stopped.  She  had  spoken  to  her  husband  about 
going  to  Henly's,  and  he  approved  the  plan  but  said  she 
must  wait  another  day  as  he  would  be  obliged  to  use  the 
horses  in  the  morning  himself. 

This  gave  her  a  little  more  time  for  preparation  and  a 
single  day  could  not  make  ranch  difference  in  the  carrying 
out  of  her  project. 

It  may  be  thought  that  these  last  hours  she  expected  to 
spend  under  the  same  roof  with  her  husband,  would  be 
filled  with  the  bitter  anguish  that  must  attend  the  sundering  of 
the  tie  that  bound  their  lives  together.  She  had  feared  her 
self  that  when  the  day  of  trial  came,  the  pain  of  the  final 
parting  would  be  more  than-  she  could  bear,  but  to  her  own 
surprise  she  felt  a  greater  calmness  of  spirit  than  she  had 
known  for  months. 

The  severest  struggle  had  been  when  she  first  resolved  to 
attempt  an  escape.  Now  her  mind  was  made  up,  the  cost 
fully  counted  and  nothing  could  turn  her  back. 

She  slept  as  quietly  that  night  as  captives  have  been  said 
to  sleep  the  night  before  mounting  the  scaffold,  and  awoke 
the  next  morning  as  strong  in  her  purpose  as  ever.  Her 
husband  ordered  the  horses  and  drove  away  after  an  early 
breakfast,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight  Aunt  Eunice 
started  the  second  time  for  the  camp,  and  Esther  set  about 
such  preparations  as  she  had  to  make  for  her  journey. 


PART  II.— CHAPTER  iv. 

DISAPPOINTMENT — ''  JEM  "  AND  HIS  DISCOVERIES — BAFFLED 
ESCAPE — THE  NAUVOO  LEGION  CALLED  INTO  SERVICE — 
DOMESTIC  FELICITY  IN  A  SAINT'S  HOUSEHOLD. 

Busy,  and  absorbed  in  painful  thought,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  scarcely  twenty  minutes  had  elapsed  when  she -heard 
the  gale  open  and  shut,  and  directly  afterwards  Aunt  Eunice 
whom  she  was  not  expecting  for  an  hour  at  least,  came  into 
the  room  and  closed  the  door  carefully  behind  her. 

"  Dey's  gone  Miss  Esther  "  she  said  in  a  cautious  whis 
per. 

"  Gone  ?  Who  ?  Where  ? 

'Sh,  honey.  Mebbe  dat  Harwood's  a  listenm'  for  I  'clar 
for't  I  blebe  he's  de  debbil. 

"  Nobody  stopped  me  dis  mornin'  an'  I  hurried  straight 
along  to  de  Square,  but  when  I  gits  dar,  what  does  yer 
spose  I  see  ?  Why  nuffin'.  lN"ot  a  tent,  not  a  waggin'  not  a 
livin'  soul.  Feared  like  de  yarth  had  opened  an*  swallered 
up  de  hull  camp.  I  was  so  dumbfoundered  dat  you  might 
a  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather,  an  I  stood  dar1  a  starin' 
five  minutes,  mebbe  more,  when  I  felt  suthin  tech  me  on  de 
shoulder.  I  turned  roun'  an  dar  stood  dat  Harwood,  a 
grinnin'  an  a  showin  his  white  teeth.  '  Too  late  Auntie  ' 
he  says,  un  den  he  tole  me  to  take  his  complcmens  to  my  miss 
es  an'  say  dat  de  train  started  with  de  fust  streak  o'  light  this 
mornin'.  He  wor  sorry,  he  said  for  his  fren's  to  be  disap 
pointed,  but  sech  things  would  happen.  I  wor  so  tuk  back 


IN  THE  TOILS.  207 

I  never  answered  a  word  an'  he  turned  an'  walked  away.  " 

Esther  listened  to  all  this  'dumbfounded'  as  Aunt  Eunice 
declared  herself  to  be.  What  did  it  mean?  What  could  it 
mean  ? 

One  thing  at  least  seemed  certain.  Her  plans  were 
known  to  Harwood,  though  how  he  became  possessed  of  such 
knowledge  was  a  mystery,  but  what  had  become  of  the 
emigrants? 

The  day  before  they  had  no  thought  of  going  so  soon, 
that  she  knew,  and  if  anything  had  occurred  to  make  it 
necessary  for  them  to  leave  in  haste,  why  did  not  her  cousin 
Margaret  send  her  word  ?  To  these  perplexing  questions 
no  reply  presented  itself,  but  to  the  question,  what  is  to  be 
done  now,  her  courage  and  resolution  supplied  an  answer. 

She  would  spend  the  day  in  effort  to  learn  the  probable 
route  of  the  emigrants  and  if  successful  would  still  try  to 
carry  out  her  plan  of  joining  them. 

Jem,  the  boy  who  was  to  drive  the  horses  for  her,  was  at 
work  in  the  garden.  She  had  other  employment  for  him 
today,  and  called  him  into  the  house  to  give  him  his  instruc 
tions.  As  he  will  figure  in  our  story  to  a  considerable  ex 
tend  in  future,  he  deserves  more  than  a  passing  notice  here. 

Jem  was  a  waif,  without  parents  or  kindred  that  he  knew 
of.  He  said  he  "  'sposed  he  must  a'  had  a  father  or  mother  or 
something  o'  that  sort  but  never  hearn  tell  about  'em." 

His  first  recollections  were  of  the  poor  house  where  he 
was  kicked  and  cuffed  and  starved  so  regularly  and  sys- 
temaically,  that  in  his  own  words  he  "got  used  teritalland 
never  'spected  nothin'  else." 

His  next  home  was  with  a  hard-fisted  old  Pennsylvania 
farmer,  to  whom  he  was  bound  out.  Here  he  was  beaten 
oftener,  but  not  so  badly  starved,  and  he  took  the  same 
philosophical  view  of  his  circumstances  as  before.  A 
couple  of  years  after  he  came  into  the  family  his  master 


2o8  IN  THE  TOILS. 

was  converted  to  Mormonism  and  emigrated  to  Utah,  taking 
Jem  along.  Like  other  good  Saints,  the  farmer  soon 
espoused  a  second  wife  and  Jem  was  assigned  to  this  lady's 
service;  and  now  for  the  first  time  he  began  to  take  less 
cheerful  views  of  life. 

His  mistress  was  a  vixen  whose  tongue  and  temper  soon 
made  her  spouse  repent  his  hasty  bargain.  He  kept 
away  from  her  as  much  as  posible,  and  having  no  one  but 
Jem  on  whom  to  pour  on  her  wrath,  a  double  portion  of 
abuse  fell  to  his  share. 

His  work  began  before  daylight  and  did  not  end  until  long 
after  dark.  He  was  fed  on  scraps  that  a  decent  dog  would 
have  refused,  and  there  were  many  days  that  he  was  whipped 
oftener  than  he  was  fed.  Jem's  constitution  was  pretty  well 
hardened  by  exposure  and  rough  usage,  but  a  frame  of  iron 
could  not  long  endure  such  treatment  as  he  was  receiving. 
Mrs.  Wallace  often  passed  him  in  her  daily  walks,  and  the 
ragged,  emaciated  figure  and  wan  face  so  stirred  her  sym 
pathies  that  she  inquired  into  his  case,  and  persuaded  her 
husband  to  buy  his  time  of  his  master. 

Jem's  good  days  were  dawning,  but  for  a  while  it  seemed 
that  they  had  come  too  late.  He  was  sick  for  weeks  after 
he  was  removed  to  his  new  master's  house,  but  Mrs.  Wallace 
nursed  him  like  a  mother  and  brought  him  back  to  health. 
It  was  the  first  time  the  poor  boy  had  ever  breathed  an 
atmosphere  of  kindness ;  the  first  time  he  had  been  treated 
like  a  human  being,  and  his  gratitude  and  devotion  to  his 
benefactress,  awkwardly  enough  expressed,  were  the  first 
signs  of  the  new  life  to  which  he  was  slowly  awakening. 

Mrs.  Wallace  knew  she  could  count  on  his  fidelity  under 
any  circumstances,  and  she  knew  likewise  that  the  keen  wit 
hidden  under  his  stolid  exterior  would  serve  her  well  in  the 
present  emergency. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  209 

But  we  have  left  Jem  a  long  while  standing,  cap  in  hand, 
in  the  doorway. 

"  Come  in  Jem,  "  said  his  mistress,  "  and  shut  the  door.  " 

The  lad  obeyed  and  waited  silently  for  further  orders. 

"  Jem,  have  you  been  to  the  emigrants'  camp  on  the 
square  this  week?  " 

"  Yes  'm.  " 

"  Were  you  there  last  night  ?  " 

"No  ma'am.  I  was  goin'  down  jist  dark,  but  th'  p'leece 
stopped  me.  " 

"  Did  you  go  near  enough  to  see  that  the  camp  was  there 
yet  ?  " 

"  Yes  'm,  but  you  know  the  Square  is  fenced  on  three 
sides.  On  the  open  side  it  looked  as  if  they  was  takin'  down 
tents  and  loadin'  up  wagons,  but  I  didn't  have  a  chance  to 
see  much,  for  the  p'leece  was  sharp  on  the  boys  and  druv 
us  all  back.  " 

"Well  Jem,  the  emigrants  went  away  this  morning, — and 
now  listen  to  me.  I  want  you  to  go  on  the  street  and 
find  out  if  you  can,  why  they  left  so  soon  and  what  road 
they  have  taken.  Don't  ask  any  questions,  but  try  and 
hear  what  people  are  saying.  You  can  do  that  without 
seeming  to  listen. 

"  All  right  Mrs.  Wallace.     I'll  do  my  best.  " 

"  I  know  you  will.  Go  now,  and  come  back  as  soon  as 
you  have  any  news  for  me.  " 

Jem  slipped  out  of  the  room  as  noiselessly  as  he  had 
entered. 

Outside  the  door,  he  stopped  to  take  down  a  bag  of  mar 
bles  from  a  nail,  and  with  these  in  his  hand  he  sauntered 
idly  along  the  sidewalk,  until  he  came  to  the  principal 
street. 

The  police,  most  of  whom  he  knew  by  sight,  though  they 
wore  no  uniform,  stood  in  little  knots  at  the  corners,  and  a 


210  IN  THE  TOILS. 

few  men  were  gathered  about  the  shops  and  stores.  There 
was  little  stir  on  the  street — indeed  a  sleepy  quiet  prevailed 
there  most  of  the  time  except  on  market  days. 

"  Hillo,"  said  Jem,  slapping  the  first  boy  he  met  on  the 
shoulder,  "  got  any  marbles?  I've  got  three  dozen  in  this  'ere 
bag  and  I'll  bet  you  what  you  dare  that  I  kin  win  yours  if 
you  want  to  play." 

"  I  'haint  no  marbles,"  answered  the  other  a  little  sulkily, 
"Dad  never  buys  me  nothin'.  I  wanted  to  go  a  fishin'  this 
mornin'but  he  would'nt  git  me  any  hooks." 

"  Well,  I'll  lend  you  a  dozen  marbles  to  begin  with  and 
we'll  see  who'll  beat." 

The  boys  knelt  on  the  sidewalk  and  were  presently  to 
all  appearance  absorbed  in  their  game,  but  Jem  kept  his 
ears  open,  though  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  marbles.  He 
had  selected  a  spot  within  three  feet  of  a  group  of  police 
men,  and  not  a  single  word  spoken  by  them  escaped 
him. 

"  You  see  Brother  Burt,"  said  one  in  a  low,  cautious  tone, 
"  they  found  out  they  had  to  obey  orders.  Some  of  the 
men  did  a  little  tall  talking  but  it  was  no  use.  We  per 
suaded  them  without  much  trouble,  when  they  made  sure 
that  we  would  send  twenty  men  to  their  one  to  start  them 
if  they  did'nt  march  of  their  own  accord." 

"  Yes,  I  guess  they've  changed  their  minds  by  this  time 
about  the  poor  Mormon  devils.  Should'nt  wonder  if  they 
see  some  more  changes  between  this  and  St.  George." 

At  this  moment  the  man  addressed  as  Burt  turned  his 
head,  and  observed  the  proximity  of  the  two  boys. 

"  Get  out  of  this  you  young  whelps"  he  said  raising  his 
club  threateningly.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  blocking  up 
the  sidewalk.  Clear,  I  say,"  at  the  same  time  giving  the 
marbles  a  kick. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  211 

"  There  now"  whimpered  Jem,  "my  chiny  alley  is  lost  in 
the  ditch." 

"  I'll  throw  you  in  after  it  if  you  don't  strike  for  home  in 
double  quick.  And  you  too,"  to  the  other  boy  ''if  you  hang 
around  here." 

The  boy  started  on  a  run  without  waiting  for  a  second 
bidding,  while  Jem,  hastily  cramming  his  remaining  marbles 
into  the  bag,  disappeared  around  opposite  the  corner. 

On  the  next  block,  a  woman  was  leaning  over  the  fence, 
talking  earnestly  with  another  who  was  at  work  in  the 
garden.  Jem  walked  that  way,  throwing  up  and  catching 
his  bag  of  marbles  as  he  went,  apparently  oblivious  of  every 
thing  else.  At  the  fence  corner,  he  dropped  down  on  the 
bank  of  the  ditch  and  began  to  build  a  dam  across  it. 

Jem's  ears  were  sharp  but  at  first,  he  could  distinguish 
nothing  of  the  conversation  between  the  two  women,  and 
finding  they  paid  no  attention  to  him  he  moved  nearer. 

"  I  don't  care,"  The  one  outside  the  fence  was  saying, 
"  I  don't  believe  the  stories  about  them.  We  live  as  near 
the  Square  as  anybody  and  they  never  disturbed  us." 

"  Well,  there  must  have  been  something  wrong,"  the  other 

answered,   or    they  would'nt  have   been  ordered  away.     It 

seemed  though,  like   it  would   have  been  a  good  thing  for 

them  to  stay  awhile.     We  all  needed  the  money  they  was 

o  free  to  spend." 

"  Yes;  but  have'ntyou  heard  that  it's  forbid  now  to  trade 
with  them?  Brother  Smith  has  gone  South  ahead  of  the 
train,  to  warn  all  the  people  in  the  settlements  not  to  have 
any  deal  with  the  emigrants." 

"  That  does  seem  a  little  hard,  but  it  don't  become  us  to 
question  what's  done  by  them  that's  set  over  us.  I've  seen 
before  now  what  comes  of  disobeying  counsel,  and  I'm  glad 
I  did'nt  sell  them  chickens  they  wanted  last  night ;  though 


212  IN    THE    TOILS. 

to  be  sure  they  offered  a  big  price,   and    my   children  'aint 
got  a  shoe  to  their  feet  for  the  winter." 

"You're  a  fool  then.  Counsel  or  no  counsel,  I  would'nt 
let  my  children  go  barefoot  in  the  snow." 

"  'Sh.  I'm  afraid  Mariar,  that  you'll  git  into  trouble  some 
day  by  talking  so  free.  Nobody  knows  who  might  be 
listening." 

"  Mariar"  seemingly  heeded  the  caution,  for  her  reply 
was  inaudible  to  the  listener  on  the  bank,  and  concluding  he 
had  heard  all  he  would  be  likely  to  hear,  Jem  slipped  out  of 
sight  and  took  a  roundabout  way  home. 

He  made  a  faithful  report  to  his  mistress,  and  Esther 
gathered  from  it  a  tolerably  clear  idea  of  what  must  have 
taken  place.  The  emigrants,  driven  out  of  the  City  in 
haste,  and  prevented  from  communicating  with  anyone,  had 
taken  the  direct  route  through  to  Los  Angeles  in  Southern 
California.  This  was  not  their  original  purpose,  but  doubt 
less  the  same  power  that  compelled  them  to  break  up  their 
camp  a  week  sooner  than  they  intended,  had  likewise 
forced  them  to  change  their  route,  and  if  they  were  pre 
ceded  by  carriers  to  warn  the  people  against  them,  they 
were  of  course  followed  by  spies  who  would  report  whether 
the  orders  given  were  obeyed  or  not. 

The  difficuties  in  the  way  of  joining  them  unperceived 
were  increased  tenfold,  but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
abandon  her  plan  altogether. 

Mechanically  she  continued  her  preparations  for  flight, 
and  long  before  nightfall  they  were  finished.  She  won 
dered  at  herself — at  the  strange  calmness  that  possessed  her 
in  view  of  parting  from  her  husband,  and  encountering 
dangers  that  might  appall  the  stoutest  heart. 

Sometimes  it  seemed  as  though  she  must  be  living  in  a 
dream,  and  she  half  expected  to  wake  up  and  find  herself 
in  her  old  home.  The  feeling,  of  which  all  of  us  have  been 


IN  THE  TOILS.  213 

conscious  at  some  period  in  our  lives,  that  her  suroundings 
and  even  her  own  acts  were  unreal,  was  strong  upon  her 
during  all  the  hours  of  that  day  and  night. 

Wallace  returned  about  dark,  looking  unusually  worn  and 
dispirited.  He  was  moody  and  silent,  answered  his  wife's 
questions  in  monosyllables,  and  when  Winnie  ventured  to 
climb  on  his  knee,  repulsed  her  so  roughly  that  the  sensitive 
child  burst  into  tears. 

He  was  up  before  daylight  the  next  morning,  hurrying 
the  preparations  for  their  journey. 

"  They  will  give  you  good  quarters  at  Henly's,"  he  said  ; 
"  and  I  shall  probably  be  out  of  town  much  of  the  time  on 
business,  so  don't  be  in  haste  to  get  back." 

He  took  leave  of  his  wife  and  child  kindly,  but  there  was 
a  strange,  though  suppressed  eagerness  to  get  them  away, 
that  Esther  could  not  help  perceiving,  and  that  she  under 
stood  only  too  well  afterwards. 

The  sun  was  just  coming  in  sight  above  the  mountains — 
when  they  started,  and  she  ordered  Jem  to  drive  fast  while 
it  was  cool.  She  hoped  to  reach  a  cross  road  about  ten 
miles  out  of  town,  before  many  of  the  people  along  the  way 
were  stirring.  This  road  led  south  through  a  section  of 
country,  so  little  traveled  and  so  thinly  settled,  that  she 
thought  it  would  be  possible  to  make  a  day's  journey  in 
that  direction  without  interruption. 

But  before  half  the  distance  to  the  crossing  was  accom 
plished,  they  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  behind  them,  and 
turning  their  heads  they  saw  a  horseman  enveloped  in  a 
cloud  of  dust,  riding  rapidly  toward  them. 

"  Its  dat  Harwood,"  exclaimed  Aunt  Eunice  as  the  dust 
cleared  a  little. 

Esther's  heart  almost  stood  still  for  a  moment,  It  was 
indeed  Harwood,  and  for  whatever  he  was  following  them  it 
certainly  was  for  no  good.  He  overtook  them  in  a  few 


214  IN  THE  TOILS. 

minutes,  and  reining  his  panting  horse  close  beside  the  car 
riage,  lifted  his  hat  to  its  occupants. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Wallace,"  he  said  in  the  bland  tone  that 
she  had  learned  to  detest  so  heartily,  "  how  fortunate  that  I 
happened  to  have  a  little  business  out  at  Henly's  to-day.  It 
would  be  quite  unsafe  for  you  to  make  the  journey  alone, 
and  if  Brother  Wallace  had  lived  in  this  country  as  long  as 
I  have,  he  would  not  think  of  allowing  you  to  do  so.  I 
called  at  your  house  just  after  you  started,  and  learning 
from  him  that  you  had  taken  no  one  with  you,  I  rode  on  as 
fast  as  possible  to  offer  my  services." 

To  all  this  Esther  vouchsafed  not  a  syllable  of  reply. 
She  saw  clearly  enough  that  her  plans  were  known  and 
defeated,  but  by  whom  ?  Had  her  husband  suspected  any 
thing  ?  Did  he  know  of  her  interview  with  her  cousin  ? 

She  was  not  likely  to  find  out  before  her  return  home  and 
perhaps  not  then.  Mrs.  Nye  was  right.  They  were  all 
snared  in  a  net  whose  meshes  could  not  be  broken.  Was 
escape  impossible  ?  It  seemed  so,  since  like  the  bird  in  the 
snare  of  the  fowler,  all  her  efforts  only  served  to  tighen  the 
cords  that  bound  her. 

As  she  remain  determinedly  silent,  Harwood,  after  a  few 
ineffectual  attempts  to  draw  Winnie  into  conversation,  fell 
back  a  little  and  suffered  them  to  continue  their  journey 
unmolested. 

Jem  drove  rapidly  until  they  came  in  sight  of  the  cross 
road.  His  mistress  had  acquainted  him  with  her  plans  as 
far  as  she  judged  it  necessary,  but  he  did  not  quite  under 
stand  what  was  expected  of  him  under  the  present  aspect 
of  affairs. 

"  Drive  on  to  Henly's  Jem."  Mrs.  Wallace  said  in 
answer  to  his  look  of  inquiry.  They  passed  the  crossing 
without  slacking  the  speed  of  the  horses,  but  neither  Esther 
or  Aunt  Eunice  could  forbear  a  look  in  the  direction  which 


IN  THE  TOILS.  215 

they  had  hoped  might  prove  a  way  of  escape.  As  the  car 
riage  sped  on,  Aunt  Eunice  clasped  her  hands  and  muttered 
half  aloud,  "No  use.  De  debbil  helps  his  own,"  but  her 
mistress  made  no  sign. 

It  was  past  noon  when  they  reached  Henly's.  The  occu 
pants  of  the  carriage  were  hospitably  received  by  Mrs. 
Henly  and  her  daughters,  but  Esther  detected  on  their  faces 
a  look  of  surprise  not  unmingled  with  fear  when  Harwood 
rode  up. 

"  The  men  are  all  at  work  on  the  west  farm,"  Mrs.  Henly 
said  in  answer  to  his  inquiry  for  her  husband,  "  but  you  can 
put  your  horse  in  the  stable  or  picket  him  in  the  pasture  just 
as  you  like." 

"  Thank  you.  I  will  put  him  in  the  stable  then,  and  give 
him  some  grain,  for  I  have  a  long  ride  before  me  yet." 

"He  is  going  away  then,"  thought  Esther  as  she  followed 
her  hostess  into  the  house,  and  there  was  an  inexpressible 
sense  of  relief  in  the  prospect  of  being  rid  of  his  pres 
ence. 

The  Henlys  were  old  residents,  that  is  to  say  they 
entered  the  valley  with  the  first  settlers,  nearly  ten  years 
before.  They  owned  two  good  farms,  raised  abundant 
crops,  were  rich  in  cattle  and  horses  and  lived  much  more 
comfortably  than  most  of  their  neighbors,  but  alas  for  the 
peace  of  the  household  there  was  a  second  wife  domiciled 
at  the  "  West  Farm."  . 

Mrs.  Henly  was  a  comely  matron  of  fifty.  Her  daughters, 
red-cheeked,  flaxen-haired  lasses  in  their  teens,  bustled 
about  to  prepare  dinner  for  the  guests,  while  the  mother 
entertained  them  in  the  "square  room."  Everything  about 
the  furniture  and  arrangement  of  this  room  told  of  the  New 
England  home  in  which  the  good  housewife  was  reared,  and 
perhaps  it  was  the  same  New  England  training  which  ren- 


216  IN  THE  TOILS. 

dered  it  impossible  for  her  to  be  "  reconciled/' as  she  said 
to  the  plural  establishment  on  the  west  farm. 

Dinner  was  soon  on  the  table,  but  to  Esther's  surprise 
Harvvood  was  not  present  when  they  sat  down.  He  asked 
for  a  slice  of  bread  and  a  glass  of  milk,  one  of  the  girls 
said,  and  then  hurried  away  to  the  other  farm  to  see  their 
father. 

"I  wonder  what  he's  after  this  time,"  she  added;  "No 
good  I'll  warrant." 

The  mother  made  a  warning  gesture,  and  the  girl 
stopped. 

Esther  thought  is  best  to  take  no  notice  of  the  remark. 
Harwood  did  not  seem  to  be  a  favorite  with  the  family,  but 
it  might  not.be  wise  to  express  her  own  opinion  about  him, 
or  to  let  it  be  known  that  his  coming  in  their  company  was 
other  than  accident. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Harwood  returned. 
He  seemed  in  a  great  hurry  and  not  very  well  pleased 
about  something,  and  as  soon  as  his  horse  could  be  saddled 
he  mounted  and  rode  back  in  the  direction  of  the  city. 

This  information  Jem  communicated  through  Aunt 
Eunice.  Harwood  did  not  •come  into  the  house  before 
starting.  He  told  the  girls  he  had  dinner  at  the  other  farm, 
and  would  need  all  his  time  for  the  ride  back  to  the  city. 

"He  has  not  gone  there  then,"  was  Esther's  mental  com 
ment. 

If  he  was  really  going  back  to  the  city,  he  would  not 
have  taken  trouble  to  say  so. 

Did  his  movements  concern  her?  Would  he  watch  the 
route  she  still  meant  to  take,  if  possible,  in  order  to  join 
the  emigrants?  She  would  have  given  much  for  an  answer 
to  these  questions,  but  since  she  was  not  likely  to  obtain  it 
from  any  source,  she  resolved  to  lay  her  plans  and  attempt 
to  carry  them  out  without  any  reference  to  Harwood. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  21  7 

"  I  will  be  no  worse  off  if  I  fail,"  she  thought  "  and  I  will 
make  at  least  one  more  effort." 

Harris  was  the  guide  on  whom  she  depended  to  con 
duct  her  through  the  Territory,  by  a  route  which  he  had 
assured  was  so  little  traveled  as  to  be  comparatively  safe  for 
her.  He  was  to  wait  that  day  on  the  cross-road  mentioned 
before,  and  if  they  did  not  come  he  was  to  return  to  the  city 
after  nightfall  and  remain  there  until  he  received  further 
orders. 

She  must  contrive  some  plausible  errand  for  Jem,  and 
send  him  back  to  the  city  in  the  morning;  meantime  she 
could  do  nothing,  but  wait  and  endeavor  to  disarm  suspi 
cion,  if  any  existed  in  the  minds  of  her  entertainers. 

Henly  came  home  to  supper,  accompanied  by  one  of  his 
two  sons. 

"  Where's  George,  father  ?  "  asked  the  oldest  girl. 

"  Had  to  send  him  to  the  range  after  a  horse  "  the  old 
man  answered  rather  shortly  :  "  One  of  the  horses  fell  lame 
to-day." 

At  the  supper  table,  Henly  tried  to  act  the  part  of  host 
affably,  but  he  was  plainly  anxious  and  ill  at  ease.  Before 
they  left  the  table,  Esther,  in  pursuance  of  the  plan  she  had 
formed,  asked  if  one  of  the  girls  could  be  spared  to  help 
them  unpack  their  things. 

"  The  girls  are  busy  "  Mrs.  Henly  answered,  "  but  I  will 
go  with  you  myself  and  help  you." 

They  went  up  stairs  together,  and  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone  in  the  chamber,  the  hostess  surprised  her  guest  by 
softly  closing  the  door  and  slipping  the  bolt. 

"  Mrs.  Wallace,"  she  said  in  a  hurried  and  agitated  whis 
per,  "  thank  God  that  I  have  found  a  chance  to  speak  to 
you  to-night,  for  if  you  should  do  what  you  are  thinking  of 
doing  to  morrow,  it  would  cost  ,you  all  your  lives,  listen  : 
That  Harwood  came  here  for  no  good,  as  my  Mary  said. 


218  IN  THE  TOILS. 

He  followed  you  from  the  city  because  he  knew  you  were 
trying  to  get  away,  and  he  has  given  orders  to  have  you 
closely  watched  here.  If  you  should  succeed  in  getting 
away  from  this  place,  it  would  be  only  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  some  of  his  spies  and, — dear  Mrs.  Wallace  you  don't 
know  this  people  yet.  It  would  be  too  good  a  chance  of 
putting  you  out  of  the  way  for  them  to  miss,  and  as  for  your 
little  girl,  Harwood  says  she  has  property  and  is  worth  sav 
ing.  I  almost  wonder  that  he  did-'nt  let  you  go  right  on 
to-day  and  fall  into  some  of  the  traps  he  had  set  for  you; 
but  nobody  can  tell  just  what  his  plans  are. 

"  Lord  have  mercy  on  us !  "  Clasping  her  hands  with 
a  sudden  despairing  gesture,  "  when  such  devils  as  he  is 
have  the  power  on  their  side,  what  can  poor  weak  women 
do  ?  " 

Esther  listened  to  all  this  with  colorless  cheeks,  clenched 
hands  and  set  teeth.  A  spirit  of  fierce  defiance  possessed 
her  for  the  moment.  She  would  dare  the  worst  that  Har 
wood  could  do.  She  could  but  die,  and  it  was  a  thousand 
times  better  to  die  now  than  to  live  in  the  power  of  such 
wretches.  But  her  child !  For  the  first  time  she  felt  the 
full  force  of  poor  Theresa  St.  Glair's  words,  "What  refine" 
ments  of  cruelty  can  be  practiced  upon  a  mother  !  " 

If  she  made  the  desperate  venture  she  had  proposed,  and 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  church  spies,  they  would  kill  her 
and  Aunt  Eunice,  but  Winnie,  as  Harwood  said,  was  "  worth 
saving." 

No,  she  must  not  throw  her  life  away,  and  leave  her  child 
helpless  and  alone  in  such  hands.  For  the  present,  all  hope 
of  escape  was  cut  off,  and  the  future  she  dared  not  contem 
plate.  She  sank  into  a  chair,  overcome  by  a  sudden  deadly 
faintness.  For  the  first  time,  her  strength  and  courage 
seemed  deserting  her,  and  Mrs.  Henly's  next  words  sounded 


IN  THE  TOILS.  210 

like  the  voice  of  the  Tempter  appealing  to  her  in  this  hour 
of  mortal  weakness. 

"  It's  no  use,  Mrs.  Wallace,  I  thought  at  first  that  I  could 
make  a  stand  for  my  rights  and  fight  my  way  through,  and 
hundreds  of  women  here  have  thought  the  same,  but  we've  all 
had  to  give  up.  We're  in  the  power  of  them,  that  don't 
stop  at  anything  ;  that  would  tear  the  baby  from  its  mother's 
breast  and  kill  it  before  her  eyes,  if  they  could  not  conquer 
her  in  any  other  way.  I  don't  believe  in  Mormonism  any 
more  than  you  do.  I  did  once,  but  Iv'e  seen  too  much 
wickedness  here  to  have  any  faith  left.  But  I  don't  let  any 
one  know  what  I  think.  I  always  talk  as  though  I  held  to  all 
the  principles  yet,  and  you  will  have  to  do  the  same;  act  as 
though  you  were  contented  with  your  lot  and  be  baptized. 

"You  must  give  up  trying  to  fight  against  what  can't  be 
helped  for  your  child's  sake  if  not  for  your  own." 

Esther  made  no  reply  to  this  in  words,  indeed  she  was 
too  stunned  and  bewildered  to  comprehend  the  half  that 
was  said,  and  Mrs.  Henly  went  on. 

"  Harwood  ordered  my  son  George  to  take  his  horse  and 
gun  and  start  south  to-day,  and  his  father  had  to  let  him  go. 
He  don't  dare  to  say  a  word,  though  he  knows  well 
enough  the  boy  is  sent  on  a  bad  errand.  The  Nauvoo 
Legion  has  been  called  out  to  follow  the  emigrant  train ;  I 
only  hope  it  is  for  nothing  worse  than  to  capture  their 
stock." 

The  last  words  roused  Esther  and  gave  a  new  direction 
to  her  fears. 

"  Why,  what  worse  errand  do  you  think  they  might  be 
sent  on  ?  "  she  asked. 

"They  mighfbQ.  ordered  not  to  let  any  of  the  company  get 
out  of  the  Territory  alive,  but  I  don't  think  it  is  as  bad  as 
that.  They  say  it  is  a  large  train,  and  all  the  men  are  well 


220  IN  THE  TOILS. 

armed  so  I  hope  they  may  get  through  with  no  greater  harm 
than  losing  some  of  their  property." 

Footsteps  were  now  heard  on  the  stairway  and  Mrs. 
Henly  unbolted  the  door  and  began  arranging  the  room  for 
the  night. 

Winnie  came  bounding  up  the  stairs  and  into  the  room, 
followed  by  one  of  the  Henly  girls,  "  I've  been  helping  milk 
the  cows  mamma,"  she  said,  "  and  I've  had  such  a  splendid 
time.  I  hope  we  are  going  to  stay  a  good  while,  for  I  like 
it  ever  so  much  better  here  than  in  town." 

"  We  will  stay  a  couple  of  weeks,  if  Mrs.  Henly  does  not 
get  tired  of  us,"  was  the  answer,  and  the  hostess,  much 
relieved  by  the  words,  added  : 

"  You  will  stay  I  hope  until  you  get  such  red  cheeks  as 
my  girls  have.  We  will  do  our  best  to  take  good  care  of 
you  and  your  mother." 

Aunt  Eunice  now  came  up,  and  Mrs.  Henly  wished  her 
guests  good-night  and  left  them  to  their  rest; — and  here  for 
the  present  we  will  leave  them  also  and  return  to  Harwood- 

Esther  made  a  mistake  in  supposing  that  he  spoke  of 
returning  to  the  city  only  to  mislead  his  listeners. 

For  once  he  meant  what  he  said,  and  about  nine  o'clock 
in  the  evening  he  dismounted  from  his  horse  at  Wallace's 
gate.  Entering  with  the  manner  of  one  not  to  be  denied 
he  walked  up  so  the  front  door  and  rapped  with  his  riding 
whip. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  asked  Wallace  from  within. 

"  Open  quickly  "  was  the  answer,  given  in  imperative 
tones.  "  There  is  no  time  to  lose." 

Wallace  recognized  the  voice  and  obeyed,  though  judging 
from  the  expression  of  his  face  the  guest  he  admitted  was  far 
from  welcome. 

Harwood    closed   the    door   behind    him,    and  Wallace 


IN  THE  TOILS.  221 

remained  standing  in  the  hail-way  with  the  lamp  in  his 
hand. 

The  two  men  regarded  each  other  a  moment  in  silence. 
Harwood  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  You  are  ready  to  start  I  suppose,"  he  said. 

"No." 

"And  why  not  pray  ?  Orders  such  as  you  have  received 
are  not  given  to  be  trifled  with  as  you  should  know  by  this 
time." 

"  I  want  to  be  assured  first  that  no  harm  is  intended  to 
these  people." 

"  You  want  to  be  assured  !  It  is  rather  late  in  the  day 
for  you  to  begin  to  question  what  is  done  by  those  who  are 
set  over  you  in  the  Lord,  or  to  have  conscientious  scruples 
about  obeying  their  counsel.  You  should  have  thought  of 
these  things  sooner." 

Harwood  bent  his  keen,  gray  eyes  on  the  man  before  him> 
and  Wallace  quailed  under  the  look.  Whatever  hidden 
meaning  was  couched  in  these  last  words,  he  understood 
them  well  enough,  for  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast  and 
every  spark  of  courage  died  out  of  his  face  and  mien. 

"  I  am  in  your  power"  he  said  in  smoother  tones.  "  Do 
with  me  what  you  will." 

"Now  you  begin  to  talk  reasonably,"  though  I  must  say 
you  have  a  peculiar  mode  of  expressing  yourself.  I  am 
going  to  change  my  jaded  horse  for  a  fresh  one  and  I  will 
be  back  in  half  an  hour. — time  enough  for  you  to  get  ready; 
and  remember,  the  orders  are,  to  march  armed  and  equipped 
as  the  law  directs." 

Half  an  hour  later  two  men  on  horseback  rode  rapidly 
down  the  street  leading  from  Wallace's  house  to  what  was 
known  as  the  State  road.  •  Here  they  halted  a  few  minutes, 
and  while  they  waited  two  or  three  small  squads  of  mounted 
men  came  in  sight  from  different  directions  and  joined  them. 


222  IN  THE  TOILS. 

Harwood  gave  some  orders  in  an  undertone  to  one  of  the 
horseman,  and  then  turning  to  Wallace  said  : 

"  These  brethren  are  to  be  your  traveling  companions. 
They  know  the  route  and  have  all  necessary  instructions 
with  regard  to  the  duty  expected  of  them.  I  part  company 
with  you  here.  I  have  orders  to  remain  in  Salt  Lake  for 
the  present." 

So  saying,  he  wheeled  his  horse  and  galloped  back  in  the 
direction  from  which  they  had  come. 

Wallace's  new  companions  took  the  road,  riding  two 
abreast.  One  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader,  directed  Wal 
lace,  to  fall  into  the  place  beside  him.  After  this  there  were 
few  words  spoken.  The  night  was  dark,  the  road  solitary  ; 
no  sign  of  life  was  visible  at  the  few  farmhouses  they  passed  ; 
not  even  the  baying  of  a  watch-dog  broke  the  oppressive 
silence. 

Once  during  the  night,  they  halted  at  a  cross-road  and 
after  a  few  minutes  waiting,  were  joined  by  about  a  dozen 
men  similarly  mounted  and  armed. 

As  the  day  began  to  dawn,  the  leader  ordered  them  to 
break  rank  and  separate  into  companies  of  twos  and 
threes.  They  were  now  approaching  a  small  settlement, 
and  some  of  these  detached  squads  halted  here  while  the 
others  rode  forward. 

Wallace  and  the  leader  were  among  the  latter.  Both 
were  well  mounted  and  they  were  by  this  time  half  a  mile 
in  advance  of  any  of  the  others.  During  the  night,  Wallace 
absorbed  in  his  own  bitter  thoughts,  had  shown  as  little  dis 
position  to  converse  as  his  taciturn  companion,  and  since 
daylight  revealed  the  hard,  determined  face  of  the  man 
beside  him,  he  felt  still  less  inclined  to  exchange  a  word 
with  him.  He  was  apparently  about  thirty-five  years  old, 
of  medium  height,  but  broad  shouldered  and  very  strongly 
built.  His  dress  was  the  ordinary  gray  home  spun,  worn  by 


IN   THE  TOILS.  223 

most  of  the  settlers,  and  furnished  no  indication  of  either 
the  military  or  ecclesiastical  rank  of  the  wearer,  though 
from  the  fact  that  during  the  ride  he  was  addressed  by 
some  of  the  company  as  "  Elder"  and  by  others  as 
"  Colonel,"  Wallace  concluded  that  he  must  be  an  officer  in 
the  Nauvoo  Legion  as  well  as  in  the  church. 

Thus  far  he  had  spoken  to  no  one  except  to  give  some 
necessary  orders,  and  now  although  riding  side  by  side 
with  Wallace  and  apart  from  the  others,  he  maintained  the 
same  impenetrable  reserve.  But  the  cold  eye,  the  cruel 
mouth  with  the  square,  heavy  under  jaw  forming  a  physiog 
nomy  altogether  repelling,  toid  their  own  story  of  the 
man's  nature,  even  if  they  revealed  nothing  of  his  mission. 

About  seven  o'clock  they  rode  up  to  the  door  of  a  com 
fortable  looking  farm-house. 

"  We  stop  here,"  said  Colonel  Ricks,  for  this  was  the 
name  by  which  Wallace  had  heard  his  companion  addressed 
during  the  night.  We  will  get  something  to  eat  for  our 
selves  and  our  horses  and  lie  by  most  of  the  day." 

A  frowsy  headed  girl  opened  the  door,  and  turning  her 
back  on  the  strangers  called  to  some  one  within,  "  Brother 
Foote  you're  wanted,"  and  immediately  disappeared. 

Some  minutes  elapsed  before  Brother  Foote  answered  the 
summons.  He  had  been  disturbed  at -his  breakfast,  appar 
ently,  for  he  carried  a  portion  of  it  in  his  hand,  and  as  he 
was  barefoot,  and  his  toilet  in  other  respects  somewhat  in 
complete  it  was  probable  he  did  not  expect  visitors  so 
early. 

"Oh!  it  is  you  Brother  Ricks,"  he  said.  "I'd  got  round 
sooner  if  I'd  a  knowed.  Light  right  down,"  he  added 
hospitably.  "  The  boy's  '11  take  your  horses  and  the  wim- 
men  '11  have  your  breakfast  ready  in  no  time.  Come  in 
this  way  you  and  brother 


224  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"Wallace"  said  the  Colonel.  "He  came  down  with  me 
from  Salt  Lake." 

"  Yes,  yes.  We've  heard  of  brother  Wallace  down  here. 
Glad  to  make  his  acquaintance."  And  Brother  Foote, shift 
ing  the  slice  of  bread  he  held  to  the  other  hand,  gave 
Wallace  a  fraternal  grasp. 

The  room  into  which  they  were  ushered  seemed  to  serve 
a  variety  of  purposes.  A  loom  with  a  web  of  cloth  in  it, 
nearly  filled  one  end,  while  a  bed  still  unmade,  occupied 
the  other,  and  a  cradle  with  a  sleeping  baby  in  it  stood  in 
a  corner. 

"  Jest  excuse  me  a  minnit  Brother  Ricks"  said  their  host 
"while  I  see  to  the  horses  and  speak  to  the  wirnmin  folks 
about  breakfast." 

With  this  apology,  Brother  Foote  betook  himself  to  the 
kitchen  regions,  from  whence  the  savory  odor  of  fried 
bacon  was  wafted  through  the  open  door  of  the  room  oc 
cupied  by  his  guests. 

"  Say  Marthy,"  it  was  the  voice  of  their  entertainer 
speaking  in  persuasive  tones,  "  Brother  Ricks  has  stopped 
here  to  breakfast,  and  that  rich  Brother  Wallace  you've 
heerd  me  tell  about  is  with  him." 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  your  grand  company  would  bring 
their  victuals  along  with  them.  You  need'nt  think  I'm 
agoing  to  wait  on  them." 

"  For  shame  Marthy;"  interposed  a  third  voice  in  a  weak 
treble,  its  a  duty  an'  a  privilege  I  consider  to  offer  Brother 
Foote's  company  the  best  in  the  house.  I've  jest  sot 
the  table  in  my  room  and  I've  cooked  a  chicken  be 
cause, — because  you  know  Brother  Foote,  you  said 
yesterday  mebbe  you'd  take  breakfast  with  me  this 
mornin'." 

"  He  take  breakfast  with  you  indeed!     I'd  like  to  see  him 


IN  THE  TOILS.  225 

doing  it,  when  it's  his  week  to  stay  in  my  part  of  the 
house." 

"  Dear  me,  Marthy  !  If  you  was  the  Queen  of  Sheby 
you  could'nt  put  on  more  airs  than  you  hev  sence  Brother 
Foote  married  you;  but  what  was  you  afore  I'd  like  to 
know  ?  " 

"And  what  was  you,  Jane  Holman?  But  I  won't  waste 
any  m<~re  words  on  you.  Brother  Foote,  you  can  bring  your 
company  in  to  breakfast  in  about  twenty  minutes.  That 
is  all  the  time  I  ask  to  set  out  a  better  meal  than  Jane  ever 
thought  of." 

"Well,  well,  don't  let's  have  any  quarreling  when  these's 
strangers  in  the  house.  We'll  take  breakfast  with  you  of 
course  Marthy,  and  if  they  stay  maybe  they'll  eat  dinner 
with  Jane." 

The  suddsn  slamming  of  a  door  at  this  juncture  deprived 
the  audience  in  the  front  room  of  the  remainder  of  the 
conversation,  and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  their  host 
entered  smiling  and  rubbing  his  hands  briskly. 

"  I  guess  them  horses  of  yourn  is  cooled  off  enough  to 
have  their  feed  now  "he  said,  I  was  afraid  the  boys 
would'nt  manage  right  and  I've  bin  out  and  tended  to  'em 
myself." 


PART   II.  —CHAPTER  v. 

THE    MOUNTAIN    MEADOW  MASSACRE. 

Nearly  three  hundred  miles  south  of  Great  Salt  Lake,  and 
not  far  from  the  line  which  divides  Utah  and  Arizona,  lies 
what  is  well  named  Mountain  Meadows, — a  valley  thousands 
of  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea ;  a  grassy  park,  walled  in 
by  the  peaks  of  the  Sierras. 

The  streams  which  feed  the  Colorado  and  Rio  Virgin 
have  their  source  here.  Mere  rivulets  they  are,  tiny  threads 
of  silver,  almost  hidden  by  the  tall  rich  grass. 

Myriads  of  wild  flowers,  wonderfully  beautiful  in  form 
and  coloring,  dot  the  surface  of  the  Meadows  and  bloom 
and  die  unnoted,— for  the  solitude  is  seldom  broken  by 
human  foot-steps. 

To  the  traveler  whom  chance  may  lead  thither,  the 
mountain  valley  seems  the  abode  of  Silence  and  Peace;  and 
so  it  seemed  to  the  company  of  emigrants,  who  reached  it, 
tired  and  travel  worn,  after  their  long  march  through  an 
enemy's  country. 

The  party  whose  sudden  and  mysterious  disappearance  from 
Salt  Lake  gave  so  much  anxiety  to  some  who  hoped  for  help 
from  them,  had  traveled  as  fast  as  their  tired  animals  could  be 
urged  to  go,  through  the  inhospitable  Territory  in  which 
theyfound  themselves,  and  early  in  September  arrived  at  the 
Meadows  where  they  hoped  to  rest  and  recruit  themselves 
before  starting  to  cross  the  Desert. 

It  seemed   to  them,   as  they    entered  the  narrow    defile 


IN  THE  TOILS.  227 

leading  into  the  park,  that  they  had  at  length  found  a  haven 
of  safety,  and  they  pitched  their  camp  and  lay  down 
to  sleep  that  night  with  thankful  hearts.  The  next  day 
passed  quietly  and  with  no  foreboding  of  danger  on 
the  part  of  the  emigrants.  When  night  fell  again,  they 
prepared  for  rest  without  taking  any  precaution  save  such 
as  had  been  their  custom  throughout  the  journey.  Two 
men  only  were  left  on  watch,  one  at  the  camp,  and  one 
where  their  animals  were  corralled,  a  few  hundred  yards 
away. 

The  hours  of  the  night  wore  on.  The  stars  that  rose  over 
the  valley  when  they  lay  down  to  rest,  looked  from  mid- 
heaven  upon  the  sleeping  company, — mothers  with  their 
babes  nestled  in  their  arms,  children  breathing  softly  in 
unbroken  slumber  of  youth  and  health,  and  strong  men 
wrapped  in  oblivion  of  the  day's  fatiguing  cares. 

Midnight  and  all  is  well ! 

But  in  the  nearest  settlements  might  be  heard  the  stealthy 
tread  of  armed  assassins,  and  half-suppressed  sounds  of 
warlike  preparations. 

The  Nauvoo  Legion,  obedient  to  "orders  from  head-quar 
ters,"  have  surrounded  the  unsuspecting  emigrants,  and 
while  they  sleep,  the  plot  for  their  destruction  is  maturing. 

A  portion  of  the  Legion  painted  and  disguised  as  Indians, 
have  been  sent  on  in  company  with  savages  less  cruel  than 
themselves  to  attack  the  train.  The  remaining  companies 
of  the  Mormon  militia  have  other  orders. 

As  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn  appeared  in  the  sky,  the 
guard  at  the  emigrants  camp  discerned  dark  forms  moving 
on  the  hill-sides  around  them.  Fearing,  he  scarce  knew 
what,  he  aroused  his  comrades. 

"  Indians,"  was  the  word  passed  from  lip  to  lip,  as  the 
figures  showed  more  plainly  in  the  growing  light. 

Before    the    sun    rose  the  scattering   forms  in  sights  had 


228  IN   THE  TOILS. 

increased  to  scores,  and  as  an  attack  was  plainly  intended, 
a  barricade  was  hastily  formed  with  the  wagons  of  the  com 
pany,  and  manned  by  husbands  and  fathers,  who  knew  that 
on  the  issue  of  the  fight  depended  the  safety  of  the  lives 
dearest  to  them. 

Their  hurried  preparations  for  defence  were  scarcely  con 
cluded,  when  the  sharp  crack  of  rifles  and  the  whizzing  of 
bullets  announced  that  the  battle  had  begun. 

It  was  already  only  too  plain  that  their  assailants  greatly 
outnumbered  them,  and  from  savages,  as  they  supposed  them 
to  be,  no  quarter  was  expected.  It  was  a  fight  against  des 
perate  odds,  but  love  stronger  than  death  nerved  their  arms 
and  strengthened  their  hearts. 

Let  the  father  who  reads  these  pages  by  his  own  fireside, 
with  the  bright  heads  of  his  little  children  clustering  round 
him.  ask  himself  against  how  great  odds  he  could  fight,  if  a 
cruel  and  lingering  death  menaced  his  darlings. 

Let  him  take  his  youngest  born  on  his  knee  and  while 
the  soft,  baby  eyes  are  uplifted  to  his,  let  him  measure,  if  he 
can,  the  anguish  of  those  fathers  who  turned  from  a  last 
look  at  just  such  faces,  to  meet  the  fierce  onset  of  their 
murderous  foes. 

All  day  long  the  unequal  battle  raged.  At  nightfall  the 
fire  from  the  attacking  party  slackened,  but  the  light  from 
piles  of  burning  brushwood  showed  that  they  still  sur 
rounded  the  emigrant's  camp  on  every  side. 

Before  sunrise,  a  murderous  rain  of  bullets  commenced, 
and  again  continued  till  nightfall. 

Access  to  the  springs  and  streams  of  water  was  now  cut 
off.  and  the  horrors  of  death  from  thirst  stared  them  in  the 
face,  but  they  fought  with  desperate  courage,  and  when  the 
sun  went  down  the  second  day,  still  held  their  position,  and 
kept  the  foe  at  bay. 

The  morning  of  the  third  day  found  them  worn,  exhausted, 


IN  THE  TOILS.  229 

tortured  by  burning  thirst,  but  with  hearts  as  undaunted  as 
ever. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  steady  firing  of  the  besiegers 
ceased,  and  when  they  looked  out  to  ascertain  the  cause, 
they  saw,  oh  joy  !  a  body  of  white  men  entering  the  valley, 
their  leader  bearing  a  flag  of  truce. 

Be  it  remembered,  the  emigrants  had  never  doubted  that 
those  who  attacked  them  were  Indians,  and  the  sight  of 
"/hite  men,  coming,  as  they  believed,  to  their  rescue,  was 
welcome  as  a  vision  of  angels. 

Unbounded  rejoicing  now  took  the  place  of  despair. 
Mothers,  who  during  all  those  dreadful  days  had  knelt  with 
their  babes  in  their  arms  and  besieged  heaven  with 
agonized  prayers,  began  to  pour  out  thanksgivings  with  a 
rain  of  grateful  tears.  Strong  men,  who  had  kept  up  the 
desperate  fight  without  wavering  for  a  moment,  broke  down 
at  the  prospect  of  deliverance  and  wept  like  children. 

In  answer  to  the  flag  of  truce,  a  little  girl  was  dressed  in 
white  and  placed  on  one  of  the  wagons. 

In  view  of  what  followed,  this  act  was  full  of  unutterable 
pathos 

Truly,  they  had  decked  a  lamb  for  sacrifice. 

The  white  men,  as  they  approached  the  camp,  proved  to 
be  a  detachment  of  Mormon  militia  headed  by  their  officers, 
who  were  likewise  the  Bishops  of  the  surrounding  settle 
ments. 

After  a  brief  parley  with  these  officers  the  beleagured 
emigrants,  seeing  no  other  hope  of  saving  their  wives,  ac 
cept  the  terms,  which  they  proposed.  These  were,  that 
they  should  surrender  all  their  possessions  to  the  "  Indians,  " 
stack  their  arms,  and  march  out  of  the  valley  under  the 
protection  of  the  militia. 

After  making  this  surrender,  they  were  divided  into  three 
companies.  The  men  went  first,  under  the  escort  of  a 


230  IN  THE  TOILS. 

detachment  of  the  Nauvoo  Legion.  The  women  and  chil 
dren  followed  at  some  distance,  and  a  wagon  containing  the 
wounded  brought  up  the  rear. 

And  now  comes  the  blackest  page  in  this  chapter  of 
treachery  and  murder;  a  page  that  the  most  callous  his 
torian  might  shrink  from  recording. 

At  a  given  signal  from  the  officer  in  command,  the  un 
armed  men,  who  were  being  marched  out  under  guard  were 
shot  down  like  dogs,  and  when  the  last  one  lay  dead  or 
dying  on  the  bloody  sod,  the  slaughter  of  the  women  and 
children  and  the  butchery  of  the  wounded  began. 

********* 

The  closing  atrocities  of  that  day  of  blood  may  not  be 
written  nor  told. 

When  the  sun  set  that  night  upon  the  reddened  and 
trampled  Meadows,  one  hundred  and  twenty  corpses 
strewed  the  ground.  The  men  lay  where  they  fell,  in  pools 
of  stiffening  gore.  The  bodies  of  the  women  and  children 
were  scattered  over  the  hillside,  toward  which  they  fled 
in  their  frantic  fear.  Away  to  the  north  of  the  camp, 
half  hidden  by  a  clump  of  bushes,  lay  Margaret  Cleveland 
and  her  daughter,  still  elapsed  in  each  others  arms.  A 
merciful  bullet,  from  the  gun  of  the  nearest  savage,  had 
passed  through  the  body  of  the  child  and  entered  the 
mother's  heart,  sparing  both  a  more  horrible  fate. 

As  the  veil  of  night  and  silence  fell  upon  the  awful  scene, 
the  murderers,  encamped  just  outside  the  valley,  gathered 
up  the  money  and  jewels  taken  from  their  victims  and 
delivered  them  to  the  officer,  in  command.  Among  those 
who  come  on  this  business  was  one  who  asked  to  speak 
apart  with  the  Colonel.  '"  Brother  Dame  "  he  said,  "  I  wish 
you'd  tell  me  what  to  do  with  that  white-livered  chap  that 
was  send  down  from  Salt  Lake.  He  fainted  away  at 
the  first  smell  of  blood,  and  was  brought  from  the  Meadows 


IN  THE  TOILS.  231 

in  my  wagon.  He's  a  layin'  there  now,  sick  with  a  fever  or 
somethin'  worse,  it  seems  like,  and  ravin'  about  '  murder  ' 
and  all  that.  Scch  kid-glove  gentry  air  no  manner  o'  count 
when  there's  rough  work  on  hand.  I  wonder  who  was  fool 
enough  to  send  him.  " 

"  That's  none  of  you  business,  "  was  the  curt  rejoinder, 
*'  I  will  go  and  see  him.  Lead  on. " 

It  was  a  walk  of  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
"Colonel's"  headquarters  to  the  camp-fire  of  his  subordinate, 
where  lying  in  a  covered  farm  wagon,  Charles  Wallace 
alternately  raved  in  delirium,  or  moaned  in  a  stupor  that 
was  not  deep  enough  to  shut  out  the  awful  sights  which  had 
burned  'hemselves  in  upon  his  brain. 

"  He  talks  altogether  too  much  for  a  sick  man.  Shouldn't 
wonder  if  1  was  obliged  to  give  him  something  to  make  him 
sleep  soundly  "  said  the  Colonel  grimly. 

Then  after  a  few  minutes'  reflection  he  added : 

"  Stay,  I  have  thought  of  a  plan.  There  is  nobody  here 
to  be  disturbed  by  his  talk  to-night,  and  in  the  morning  you 
can  take  him  to  Bill  Stewart's  ranch  down  the  river.  His 
woman  there  is  Danish  and  won't  understand  a  word  that 
may  be  said.  I  will  send  Bill  down  himself  some  time 
to-morrow,  and  under  his  care  our  fine  gentlemen  will  do 
well  enough.  How  long  has  he  been  with  you?  " 

"  Since  yesterday.  I  was  in  the  same  squad  with  him 
when  we  got  our  orders  to  go  and  help  the  emigrants?  He 
seemed  mighty  uneasy,  and  asked  a  heap  of  questions  about 
the  errand  we  had  been  sent  on.  .  Brother  Allen  told  him 
the  Injuns  was  usin'  up  the  emigrants,  and  we  was  goin'  to 
try  and  save  them.  I  did'nt  say  anything,  for  I  wa'ant 
asked  to,  and  besides  I  make  it  a  pint  to  let  folks  do  their 
own  lyin*.  " 

"You've  got  altogether  too  free  a  tongue,  Brother  Jim. 
Mind  that  it  don't  get  you  into  trouble  some  day." 


232  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  Oh  as  to  that  I  always  have  a  care  where  I  do  my 
talkin'. 

"  Well  as  I  was  sayin',  this  new  recruit,  Wallace  I  believe 
they  call  him, was  uncommon  pertickler  to  know  why  we 
had  been  ordered  out,  and  I  don't  think  he  felt  just  satis 
fied  when  them  chaps  stacked  their  arms,  but  he  kept  his 
place  in  the  ranks  till  he  heard  the  word  '  fire,'  and  then  his 
gun  dropped  from  his  hands.  Five  minutes  after,  when  the 
smoke  cleared  so's  to  show  what  the  shot  had  done,  he 
dropped  too,  and  rolled  almost  under  my  feet. 

"I  picked  him  up,  (there  wa'ant  more  heft  to  him  than  a 
girl),  and  dragged  him  out  of  the  way,  and  after  it  was  all 
over,  old  man  Davis  helped  carry  him  to  one  of  the  wagons, 
I  had'nt  any  orders  to  do  it,  but  seein'  he  was  in  Colonel 
Rick's  company  and  they  made  somethin*  of  him,  I  sposed 
they'd  want  him  looked  after.  They  put  him  in  my  wagon 
after  they  got  to  my  camp." 

"  Well,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  obey  orders.  Take  care 
of  him  yourself  to-night  and  don't  stop  anywhere  on  your 
way  to  Stewart's  to-morrow." 

With  these  words  the  "  Colonel  "  turned  away,  leaving 
Wallace  in  the  hands  in  which  he  found  him  ;  and  here  for 
the  present  we  will  leave  him  also,  and  go  back  a  couple  of 
months  to  the  night  on  which  poor  Pauline  met  her  fate. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  on  the  evening  referred  to 
Wallace  received  a  summons  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the 
brethren,  to  be  held  at  the  house  of  the  Ward  Bishop.  This 
was  no  uncommon  occurrence,  and  at  such  meetings 
hitherto,  no  business  of  very  great  importance  had  been 
transacted. 

On  this  particular  night,  Wallace  went  as  usual  without 
knowing  or  caring  particularly  why  he  was  sent  for.  When 
lie  arrived  he  found  the  room  well  filled  with  men,  most  of 
whom  were  strangers  to  him.  Several  persons  whom  he 


IN  THE  TOILS.  233 

knew  to  belong  to  the  police  force  were  also  present, 
occupying  the  seats  next  the  door. 

There  was  a  little  talking  in  a  subdued  tone,  and  in 
answer  to  a  question  from  Wallace,  the  Bishop  said  they 
were  waiting  for  the  brother  who  was  to  speak  to  them. 

Wallace  sat  with  his  back  to  the  door  and  did  not  notice 
when  it  was  opened,  or  hear  the  sound  of  footsteps,  until 
the  Bishop,  turning  round,  offered  his  hand  to  some  one  who 
had  entered,  saying,  "good  evening,  Brother  Harwood." 

Raising  his  eyes  with  a  start,  he  encountered  the  fixed  gaze 
of  the  man  whom  he  supposed  to  be  hundreds  of  miles 
away.  Somehow,  this  unexpected  meeting  with  the  returned 
missionary  gave  the  convert  less  pleasure  than  might  be  sup 
posed  ; — he  was  even  conscious  of  a  shiver  of  dread  and 
repulsion,  when  the  new-comer  grasped  his  hand,  with  great 
seeming  cordiality,  and  inquired  after  his  family. 

By  this  time,  several  other  brethren  had  gathered 
round,  and  Harwood,  after  exchanging  greetings  with  them, 
asked  the  Bishop  to  open  the  meeting  with  prayer. 

Then  rising,  and  speaking  in  a  low  voice,  scarcely  above 
a  whisper  but  so  distinctly  that  no  one  could  lose  a  word, 
he  said : 

"  Brethren  when  the  Lord  gave  us  these  valleys  of  the 
mountains  for  an  inheritance,  he  commanded  us  not  to 
suffer  sin  among  us.  If  we  disobey  this  command,  we  lose 
all  he  has  given  us. 

"Do  you  ask  how  we  are  to  keep  it?  Why,  as  his  people 
of  old  kept  it ;— by  cutting  off  sinners  from  the  earth.  If 
we  find  one  among  us  who  will  not  keep  the  law  and  will 
not  be  admonished,  it  is  better  for  that  one  to  die  than  for 
the  whole  people  to  perish. 

"It  is  to  decide  the  fate  of  such  a  one  that  we  are  met 
to-night." 

For  half  an  hour  he  continued  talking  in  the  same  strain, 


234  IN  THE  TOILS. 

withholding  the  name  of  the  doomed  one  until  the  last  sen 
tence,  but  when  he  pronounced  the  final  words : 

"All  of  you  whose  mind  it  is  that  Pauline  R, — should  b^ 
cut  off  for  her  sins,  raise  your  right  hand," — it  was  evident 
that  he  knew  his  audience,  for  every  hand  was  raised. 
Wallace  sat  directly  before  the  speaker,  whose  baleful  eyes, 
fixed  on  him  with  mesmeric  power,  seemed  to  paralyze  his 
faculties  and  control  his  will.  When  the  fatal  words  were 
spoken  that  doomed  a  fellow  creature  to  death,  his  hand 
was  raised  with  the  others,  but  dropped  immediately  by  his 
side. 

Staring  straight  before  him,  conscious  of  nothing  but  the 
glittering  eyes  that  held  him,  he  heard,  without  comprehend 
ing  the  next  words,  addressed  to  the  policemen. 

"  Brethren  do  your  duty." 

There  was  a  little  stir  near  the  door,  as  the  men  spoken 
to,  passed  out,  then  the  voice  of  the  leader  was  heard 
again. 

"  Let  us  pray." 

And  in  awful  though  possibly  unconscious  mockery  of 
the  Being  whose  laws  they  were  breaking,  the  Bishop,  again 
prayed  for  a  blessing  on  the  night's  work. 

It  was  not  until  the  meeting  broke  up  and  he  found  him 
self  alone,  with  the  cool  breeze  from  the  mountains  blowing 
in  his  face,  that  Wallace  awoke  as  from  a  frightful  dream, 
and  began  to  realize  what  he  had  done. 

"I  am  a  murderer,"  he  said  half  aloud; — and  he  held 
up  his  hands  in  the  moonlight,  as  though  expecting  to  find 
the  stain  of  blood  on  them. 

With  his  brain  in  a  whirl,  feeling  every  moment  as  though 
he  should  go  mad,  and  yet  conscious  of  the  necessity  of 
silence  and  watchfulness  over  himself  he  turned  his  steps 
homeward. 

In  the  midst  of  his  mental  confusion  and  bewilderment, 


IN  THE  TOILS.  235 

one  thought  was  only  too  clear.  He  was  accessory  to  the 
murder  of  the  unhappy  girl  who  was  perhaps  already  in  the 
hands  of  her  assassins; — and  even  while  he  was  striving  to 
banish  the  dreadful  picture  conjured  up  by  his  tortured 
brain,  her  cry  for  help  rang  out  on  the  still  midnight  air. 

Fairly  stopping  his  ears,  he  hurried  from  the  spot  to  his 
own  door,  there  to  be  met,  as  we  have  seen,  by  his  wife's 
accusing  question  :  "  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  witnessed 
a  murder  without  raising  a  hand  to  save  the  victim?" 

He  passed  the  following  week  in  a  state  bordering  on 
insanity,  and  finally  settled  down  into  a  state  of  mind 
which  if  he  had  been  forced  to  describe,  he  would  have 
expressed  somewhat  in  this  manner: 

"I  am  not  a  free  agent.  I  came  here  consenting  to  subject 
my  reason  to  my  faith.  I  have  no  right  to  reason  about  this 
matter.  If  the  girl  was  guilty  as  alleged,  it  is  not  for  me 
to  say  that  the  Priesthood  had  no  right  to  decree  her  pun 
ishment.  I  will  leave  the  responsibility  where  it  belongs — 
with  those  who  planned  the  deed."  Full  of  contradictions 
as  this  attempt  at  self-justification  may  appear,  it  is  a  fair 
sample  of  the  defence  made  by  Wallace's  fellow-believers 
who  have  been  guilty  of  actual  crime ;  and  these  may  be 
numbered  by  thousands. 

Still,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  silence  reason  and  con 
science,  he  could  not  wholly  put  away  the  awful  feeling  of 
blood-guiltiness  which  haunted  him  at  first. 

Besides  this  there  was  the  fear,  always  present  with  him 
now,  that  he  might  be  called  at  any  day  to  assist  in  some 
other  deed  of  darkness,  and  the  consciousness  that  he  would 
not  dare  to  disobey  such  a  call. 

No  wonder  then  that  after  the  experience  of  the  past  two 
months,  the  little    which    he  saw  of  the  bloody  tragedy  of 
Mountain  Meadows  was  sufficient  to  strike  him  down  sense 
less  at  the  feet  of  the  murderers  who  called  him"  Brother!  " 


PART  II.— CHAP.  VL 

AT      THE       FARM-HOUSE — THE       RETURN — TERRIBLE      REVE 
LATIONS. 

It  is  time  now  to  return  to  Mrs.  Wallace  and  Winnie, 
whom  we  left  at  the  Henly  farm-house. 

The  two  weeks  named  at  first  as  the  limit  of  their  stay 
passed,  but  as  the  weather  still  continued  very  hot,  Esther 
now  that  all  present  hopes  of  getting  safely  out  of  the  Ter 
ritory  seemed  cut  off,  decided  not  to  return  to  the  city  until 
the  last  of  September.  As  yet,  they  had  heard  nothing 
from  Wallace,  but  his  wife  felt  no  anxiety  on  his  account, 
believing  him  to  have  gone,  as  he  had  led  her  to  suppose, 
to  some  of  the  northern  settlements.  Another  week  passed 
quietly  at  the  farm-house.  Winnie  was  growing  so  rosy  and 
strong  that  her  mother  felt  well  repaid  for  bringing  her 
away  from  the  town.  All  the  members  of  the  Henly  house 
hold  seemed  intent  on  making  their  visitor's  stay  a  pleasant 
one,  but  the  head  of  the  family,  though  cordial  to  his 
guests,  appeared  restless  and  ill  at  ease.  The  eldest  son, 
George,  who  was  summoned  away  by  Harwood,  had  not 
yet  returned,  and  once  or  twice  Esther  happened  to  over 
hear  his  sisters  wondering  at  his  long  stay.  On  both  oc 
casions,  they  were  sharply  reprimanded  by  their  father  for 
troubling  themselves  about  what  did  not  concern  them,  and 
told  that  their  brother  was  old  enough  to  take  care  of  him 
self  The  mother,  since  the  first  evening's  conversation 
with  Mrs.  Wallace,  had  not  spoken  of  her  boy,  though  it 


IN  THE  TOILS. 


237 


was  evident  from  her  manner  that    she   was  not  altogether 
free  from  anxiety  about  him. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  third  week,  Mr.  Henly  rode  into 
town  and  remained  away  a  couple  of  days.  When  he  re 
turned  he  brought  Mrs.  Wallace  a  message  which  he  said 
was  left  with  her  tenants  who  occupied  the  small  house  and 
took  care  of  the  place  in  her  absence.  It  was  to  the  effect 
that  Wallace  had  joined  a  party  going  north,  to  look  for 
land  suitable  for  a  town-site,  and  that  he  might  not  be  home 
before  the  middle  of  October. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  this  message  was  of 
Harwood's  coining.  It  certainly  did  credit  to  his  inventive 
genius. 

Esther  however,  received  the  word  brought  her  in  good 
faith. 

Henly  told  her  it  was  sent  by  a  brother  just  in  from  the 
north;  and  to  the  natural  inquiry  why  her  husband  had 
not  also  sent  a  letter,  he  replied  that  the  party  met  Brother 
Allen  on  his  way  to  town,  and  he  could  not  stop  for  a  letter 
to  be  written. 

Brother  Henly  also  brought  his  family  tidings,  probably 
quite  as  truthful  as  the  above,  with  regard  to  George's 
whereabouts. 

The  boy,  he  said  had  got  back  as  far  as  Salt  Lake,  and  as 
he  wanted  to  stay  in  the  City  a  few  weeks,  he  had  given  him 
permission  to  do  so. 

Meanwhile,  no  word  had  reached  the  farm-house  with 
regard  to  the  fate  of  the  emigrant  train,  and  Esther,  finding 
the  suspense  unbearable,  ventured  to  seek  a  private  inter 
view  with  Mrs.  Henly,  for  the  purpose  of  asking  what  she 
knew  or  suspected. 

"They  say  no  news  is  good  news,"  was  the  matron's  reply 
to  her  anxious  questions. 

"•  If  anything  very   bad  had  happened  them,    it   would  be 


238  IN  THE  TOILS. 

t 

whispered  about  among  those  who  were  thought  trustworthy, 
but  I  am  quite  certain  that  not  a  word  has  reached  this 
settlement.  It  is  most  probable  that  the  Indians  have  been 
employed  to  run  off  their  stock,  and  that  the  emigrants 
have  made  their  way  out  of  the  Territory,  glad  to  get  off 
with  only  the  loss  of  a  few  cattle  and  horses." 

"  But  George?  If  he  has  been  South  he  must  know  all 
about  it." 

"  I  dare  say  he  does,  and  that  is  the  reason  his  father 
keeps  him  away  from  home  for  the  present.  He  won't 
come  back  till  the  affair  has  blown  over." 

"  Then  you  feel  quite  sure  that  nothing  worse  has  hap 
pened  to  the  emigrants  than  the  loss  of  some  of  their 
property?" 

"  That  is  what  I  think,  but  if  there  has  been  any  serious 
trouble  we  will  know  something  about  it  soon,  though  we 
may  never  find  out  the  whole  truth." 

This  conversation  took  place  three  or  four  days  after 
Henly's  return  from  the  City.  It  was  not  reassuring,  and 
Mrs.  Wallace  decided  to  start  for  home  the  following  Mon 
day,  thinking  that  in  Salt  Lake  she  might  hear  something 
which  would  relieve  the  painful  anxiety  she  felt  regarding 
the  fate  of  her  cousin. 

The  day  of  their  return  to  their  home  in  town  was 
almost  the  counterpart  of  that  on  which  they  entered  the 
valley,  just  one  year  ago  ; — the  same  golden  light  bathing 
the  earth,  the  same  soft  haze  resting  on  the  mountain- 
tops. 

Autumn  fllowers  still  blossomed  in  the  little  garden,  and 
the  trees  bent  under  their  weight'  of  ripened  fruit.  Very 
fair,  very  peaceful  everything  looked,  but  to  Esther,  whose 
heart  was  filled  with  gloomy  forebodings,  all  this  outward 
loveliness  was  but  as  the  flowers  blooming  above  a  grave. 
Here  she  had  buried  hope  and  happiness  ;  here  was  the 


IN   THE  TOILS.  239 

grave  of  all  she  had  cherished  most; — here  too,  was  the 
pit  into  which  the  fair  child  by  her  side  might  fall  some 
day. 

The  tenant  of  the  little  house  came  bustling  forward  on 
their  approach,  with  the  keys  in  her  hand, 

"We're  very  glad  to  see  you  all  home  again,"  she  said 
heartily.  "  I  took  the  privilege  of  opening  the  house  and 
airing  the  rooms  this  morning,  thinking  you  might  come 
to-day, — but  where  is  brother  Wallace?  " 

"  Still  at  the  north,  I  suppose.  We  have  not  heard  from 
him  since  we  got  his  message  through  you." 

"  His  message  !  Why  Sister  Waliace  we  have'nt  heard  a 
word  from  him  since  he  left  the  keys  with  us,  and  that  was 
the  night  after  you  went  away." 

For  one  moment  Esther  felt  as  though  she  should  fall, 
and  caught  at  the  railing  of  the  porch.  She  had  never 
fainted  in  her  life,  but  the  steady  nerves  and  strong  self-con 
trol  which  had  withstood  so  many  shocks  were  weakening. 

In  the  single  minutes  following  the  discovery  that  the 
message  which  set  her  mind  at  rest  about  her  husband  was 
a  lie,  a  flood  of  direful  apprehensions  swept  over  her. 

Had  he  too  been  put  out  of  the  way  ?  Perhaps  his  body 
was  even  now  lying  in  some  canyon,  food  for  the  wolves, 
All  the  horrible  stories  she  had  heard  during  the  past  six 
months  came  rushing  into  her  mind,  and  for  the  time  her 
fear  for  her  husband's  safety  swallowed  up  all  other  fear  and 
anxieties. 

She  tried  to  recall  what  he  had  said  when  she  left  home 
but  could  remember  nothing  which  would  afford  a  clue  to 
his  whereabouts.  It  was  possible,  however,  that  the  tenant 
might  know  something  with  regard  to  the  parties  in  whose 
company  he  left,  or  the  route  he  was  to  take ;  so  as  soon  as 
she  could  collect  her  thoughts,  she  bade  Winnie  to  stay  witji 
Aunt  Eunice,  and  turning  to  '  Sister  Mead,'  said  : 


240  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  I  will  go  over  to  your  house  and  rest  a  few  minutes  and 
you  can  tell  me  how  things  have  gone  since  we  have  been 
away." 

Sister  Mead  was  a  widow  with  one  son,  who  was  just  then 
at  work  in  the  farthest  part  of  the  lot,  so  the  two  women 
were  quite  alone  when  they  entered  the  house  and  sat 
down. 

"  Mrs.  Mead,"  said  Esther,  "  more  than  a  week  ago,  Mr. 
Henly  brought  me  a  message  which  he  said  was  from  you. 
He  told  me  that  a  Mr.  Allen,  coming  in  from  the  northern 
settlements,  stopped  here  and  left  word  that  my  husband 
had  joined  a  party  who  were  looking  for  a  town-site,  and 
that  he  would  not  be  home  until  the  middle  of  October. 
You  say  you  have  heard  nothing,  and  I  don't  know  what  to 
think." 

"  No  more  do  I  Sister  Wallace.  As  I  told  you,  the  last  I 
saw  or  heard  of  your  husband  was  the  night  after  you  left. 
He  was  away  all  day,  but  came  home  about  sundown.  My  boy 
put  up  his  horse  and  I  offered  to  get  his  supper,  but  he  said 
no,  he  should  not  want  anything.  Early  in  the  evening 
somebody  rode  up  to  the  gate  and  stopped.  I  looked  out, 
naturally,  but  it  was  so  dark  I  could'nt  see  who  it  was  till  he 
knocked  at  the  door  and  it  was  opened.  Then  for  a  minute 
the  light  shone  full  on  his  face." 

"And  you  knew  him  ?  " 

"I  dont  know  his  name,  but  it  was  that  tall,  dark  man 
who  has  been  at  your  house  so  much  during  the  summer." 

"Did  my  husband  go  away  with  HIM?"  Involuntarily, 
Esther  pronounced  the  last  word  in  atone  which  betrayed 
her  fear  and  detestation  of  the  man  who  had  such  a  strange 
power  for  evil  over  those  who  gave  themselves  up  to  his 
guidance. 

Mrs.  Mead  looked  up  surprised. 

"  I  can't  say  for  sure  that  they  went  together,  but  I  sup- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  241 

pose  so,  I  saw  the  man's  face  for  just  a  minute,  as  I  said, 
while  he  was  standing  in  the  doorway.  Then  he  went  in 
but  came  out  again  soon.  About  ten  miiuUes  afterwards 
Brother  Wallace  came  over  here  and  asked  John  to  saddle 
his  horse  and  bring  him  round  to  the  gate.  He  told  me  he 
was  obliged  to  go  out  of  town  on  business  and  might  be 
away  until  you  came  home,  so  he  would  leave  the  place  in 
my  care.  He  did  not  say  where  he  was  going,  and  I  did'nt 
ask,  but  John  said  he  waited  at  the  gate  till  another  man  on 
ho^eback  came  up  and  they  rode  away  together." 

il  Have  you  seen  that  man  since  the  night  Mr.  Wallace 
went  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him  about  two  weeks  afterwards  and  again 
this  week,  but  as  he  is  a  stranger  to  me  I  did  not  think  of 
speaking  to  him." 

"  And  you  have  heard  nothing  whatever  from  my 
husband." 

"  No,  nothing."  Then  observing  Esther's  pallor  and 
agitation  she  added  in  a  lower  tone: 

"  But  I  can  tell  you  what  I  think.  Quite  a  number  of 
men  from  this  city  were  sent  south  just  after  those  emigrants 
were  here.  It  was  said  that  as  they  were  a  very  lawless 
company  they  would  be  likely  to  make  trouble  on  their  way, 
and  I  heard  that  the  militia  were  ordered  out  to  watch  them. 
Since  then,  my  daughter  has  been  up  from  Lehi,  and  she 
says  she  thought  she  saw  Brother  Wallace  in  company  with 
Brother  Ricks  and  about  a  dozen  men  from  Salt' Lake,  who 
rode  through  the  settlement  going  South." 

"  Was  it  your  daughter  Mary  who  used  to  live  across  the 
street?  " 

"  Yes,  and  she  knows  Brother  Wallace  so  well  by  sight 
that  I  don't  think  she  could  be  mistaken." 

"  Have  any  of  the  men  who  went  south  returned  to  the 
city  do  you  think?" 


242  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  Yes,  some  of  them,  but  not  all.  There  are  at  least  two 
men  from  this  ward  besides  Brother  Wallace  who  have  not 
got  home.  Then  I  know  of  others  whose  wives  have  been 
expecting  them  for  two  weeks  and  have  heard  nothing  from 
them,  but  no  doubt  they  will  all  get  safely  back  soon.  It's 
a  long  way  to  the  Southern  settlements  and  a  good  many 
things  might  happen  to  delay  them  on  their  journey." 

"  Did  those  of  the  men  who  have  returned  bring  any  word 
about  the  emigrant  train?  Have  you  heard  anything?  " 

Sister  Mead  changed  color  and  moved  uneasily  on  her 
chair.  She  had  a  vague  recollection  of  hearing  that  Mrs. 
Wallace  had  relatives  on  the  train.  What  should  she  say  to 
her?  She  was  an  honest  woman  in  spite  of  the  influences 
under  which  she  lived,  and  had  still  some  old-fashioned 
scruples  about  telling  a  direct  lie.  She  had  heard  some 
thing  ; — much  more  than  she  was  willing  to  repeat  to  the 
woman  who  sat  before  her,  waiting  for  her  answer  with  pale 
face  and  anxious  eyes.  The  only  evasion  she  could  frame 
sounded  weak  and  shallow  enough  to  herself. 

"You  know,  Sister  Wallace  that  I  hardly  ever  go  out,  and 
what  news  I  hear  comes  through  John,  who  is  like  all  other 
boys, — repeats  a  story  in  such  a  way  that  it  don't  lose  any 
thing  in  telling.  John  has  heard  something  about  a  fight 
between  the  emigrants  and  the  Indians,  but  I  don't  think 
the  news  he  picks  up  is  very  reliable." 

•'Does  John  say  that  any  of  the  emigrants  were  killed  ?  " 

"  Some  of  them  I  believe.  The  fight  took  place  a  good 
ways  from  the  settlements  and  by  the  time  our  people  got 
there  it  was  mostly  over." 

"  Our  people  !  The  Mormons,  you  mean.  What  did  they 
do?" 

"  Why  of  course  they  started  out  to  drive  off  the  Indians; 
but  as  I  said  before,  you  can't  place  much  dependence  on 
what  John  has  heard." 


IN  THE  TOILS.  243 

It  was  plain  enough  to  her  questioner  that  Sister  Mead 
whatever  she  knew  did  not  mean  to  tell  anything  more  and 
with  a  very  heavy  heart  Esther  rose  to  go. 

When  in  her  own  room,  alone  with  her  fears  and  distress, 
she  recalled  Mrs.  Mead's  confused  looks  and  evasive 
answers  and  found  in  them  almost  certain  evidence  that  the 
worst  that  could  be  foreboded  had  befallen  the  doomed 
emigrants.  What  did  Mrs.  Henly  say  ?  "  The  Nauvoo 
Legion  might  be  ordered  not  to  suffer  any  of  them  to  leave 
the  Territory  alive."  This  seemed  too  horrible  for  belief 
and  yet  the  conviction  began  to  force  itself  upon  her 
mind  that  if  one  had  perished  all  had  perished.  No  one 
knew  better  than  the  Mormon  leaders  how  fatal  would  be 
the  escape  of  any  of  any  one  who  could  tell  the  tale  of 
his  comrade's  doom.  A  fight  with  the  Indians!  No.  There 
had  been  no  such  thing.  She  remembered  well  enough 
having  overheard  a  party  of  Mormons  just  from  the  South 
say  there  were  not  a  dozen  Indians  on  the  whole  route. 
This  was  in  August  while  the  emigrants  were  camped  at 
Salt  Lake.  If  harm  had  befallen  the  emigrants,  white 
men  were  responsible  for  it.  Had  her  husband  any  know 
ledge  of  what  had  happened  ?  Was  the  fate  of  the  train 
in  any  way  connected  with  his  prolonged  absence?  Her 
fears  supplied  one  answer  to  these  questions,  the  remnants 
of  her  faith  in  her  husband  another.  ****** 

In  after  years  when  she  looked  back  upon  the  two  weeks 
of  torturing  anxiety  and  horrible  suspense  that  followed,  she 
marveled  that  she  kept  her  reason.  It  was  now  October 
and  still  no  tidings  of  her  husband.  Day  after  day  she 
watched  the  road  leading  southward.  There  was  no  timber, 
no  rising  ground,  nothing  to  break  the  view,  and  with  a  glass 
she  could  see  every  moving  object  on  the  highway  for  many 
miles.  It  was  near  sunset  on  the  fourteenth  day  since  her 
return.  Somehow  as  night  fell  upon  each  day  of  watching 


244  IN   THE  TOILS. 

and  waiting,  the  feeling  that  she  must  be  at  her  post,  the 
first  to  meet  the  absent  one,  was  stronger  than  ever. 
To-night,  as  she  lifted  her  glass  to  scan  the  distant  horizon, 
and  then  dropping  it  watched  the  portion  of  the  road  lead 
ing  into  town,  her  mind  was  carried  back  to  that  never-to 
be-forgotten  night  when  she  stood  watching  for  her  husband 
on  the  porch  of  the  stone  house  ; — the  night  that  closed 
upon  her  last  day  of  happiness  and  peace.  Then  without 
any  mental  effort  this  picture  was  shut  out  and  the  far-off 
home  of  her  girlhood  rose  up  before  her.  She  saw  the  sun 
set  again  behind  the  groves  of  Louisiana.  She  stood  at  the 
gate  watching  and  waiting  for  her  father's  coming.  She 
heard  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the  highway.  She  roused 
herself  with  a  start.  The  picture  faded  and  in  its  stead  she 
saw  the  dusty  highway  leading  southward,  and  the  lumbering 
canvas-covered  wagons  of  the  settlers  turning  off  from  it 
into  the  principal  street  of  the  town.  It  was  not  for  these 
that  she  was  watching  and  with  a  weary  sigh  she  left  her 
post  and  entered  the  house,  but  almost  immediately  Winnie 
called  out : 

"  Mamma !  There  is  a  wagon  stopping  at  the  gate.  '* 
Hurrying  out  she  saw  one  of  the  heavy  covered  farm 
wagons  which  had  just  now  come  into  the  city.  The  driver 
jumped  down  from  his  seat  as  she  appeared  and  extended 
his  hand  to  some  one  inside.  There  was  a  minute's  delay 
and  then  the  figure  of  a  man  wrapped  in  a  long  traveling 
cloak  and  with  a  slouched  hat  concealing  his  face,  became 
visible  at  the  opening  of  the  canvas.  He  made  one  or  two 
ineffectual  attempts  to  descend  and  was  at  length  fairly 
lifted  to  the  ground  by  the  driver.  By  this  time  the  whole 
family  were  at  the  gate,  and  Esther  was  the  first  to  receive 
into  her  arms,  the  trembling,  emaciated  figure  that  staggered 
toward  her.  "  Let  me  help  you  ma'am,  "  said  the  driver 
respectfully,  "  He's  been  pretty  sick  and  the  ride  has  shook 


IN  THE  TOILS.  245 

him  up  a  good  deal.  "  The  man's  kindly  offer  was  accepted 
and  leaning  heavily  on  him  and  on  his  wife's  shoulder, 
Charles  Wallace  re-entered  the  home  he  had  hardly  hoped 
to  see  again.  His  eye  brightened  for  a  moment  as  the  door 
opened  to  admit  him,  but  before  he  could  be  seated  in  the 
arm-chair  that  stood  ready  for  him,  he  fainted  quite  away. 
When  consciousness  returned  his  gaze  rested  first  on  the 
face  of  his  wife,  who  bent  over  him.  "  Am  I  home  again  ? 
Thank  God!  "  he  said  feebly,  trying  to  reach  out  his  hand 
to  her. 

The  man  who  had  brought  him  still  stood  in  the  doorway, 
but  as  soon  as  Wallace  showed  signs  of  consciousness,  he 
moved  back  a  step,  or  two,  and  saying:  "  I  must  be  going  " 
strode  to  the  gate  and  jumping  into  his  wagon  drove 
rapidly  off  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

"  'Pears  like  he's  in  a  powerful  hurry  "  muttered  Aunt 
Eunice  "  Don't  stop  for  nobody  to  ax  him  nuffin.  " 

Wallace  who  still  clung  to  his  wife's  hand,  without  seem 
ing  to  notice  the  presence  of  others  in  the  room,  now  spoke 
again.  "  I  have  been  very  sick.  I  thought  I  was  better, 
but  this  ride  has  tired  me  so,  I'm  afraid  you  will  have  to 
let  me  go  to  bed.  " 

"  Can  you  walk  ?  "  asked  Esther. 

"  Yes,  if  }  ou  will  help  me.      I  want  you.     Nobody  else.  " 

Esther  signed  to  the  others  to  leave  the  room,  and  Wal 
lace  exerted  all  his  strength  to  walk,  with  her  help,  into  the 
next  room.  He  seemed  nervously  afraid  that  she  would 
call  some  one,  and  to  soothe  him  she  told  him  she  needed 
no  assistance,  and  did  indeed  manage  to  get  him  into  his 
bed  alone.  He  thanked  her  earnestly  as  she  settled  his 
pillows  for  him,  and  then  closing  his  eyes,  but  still  holding 
her  hand,  appeared  to  sleep.  For  more  than  an  hour  she 
sat  thus  beside  him.  W.nnie  tiptoed  softly  into  the  room  to 
see  "  poor  papa.  "  Her  loving  heart  ached  a  little  because 


246  IN  THE  TOILS. 

he  had  not  spoken  to  her  or  seemed  to  see  her,  but  his 
sickness  excused  everything.  Mamma  whispered  to  her  that 
she  -could  not  leave  papa  tonight,  but  Aunt  Eunice  might 
send  in  a  cup  of  tea  by  and  by.  "  May  I  stay  with  you 
mamma  "  she  asked.  "  Not  now  dear" — and  though  Winnie's 
face  was  saddened  for  a  moment,  she  kissed  mamma  and 
went  out  directly,  reasoning  in  her  wise  little  head  upon 
the  need  of  perfect  quiet  in  papa's  sick-room.  She  loved 
her  father  with  all  the  strength  of  her  affectionate  nature, 
and  much  as  she  wanted  to  be  with  him  she  would  stay 
away  all  the  time  rather  than  disturb  him  by  a  foot-fall  even. 

Esther,  alone,  watching  beside  the  sleeping  figure  that  at 
times  seemed  scarcely  to  breathe,  was  conscious  for  the  time 
of  nothing  but  her  intense  solicitude  that  he  might  rest  long 
enough  to  wake  refreshed  and  rational.  His  sle^p  appeared 
to  be  that  of  one  utterly  exhausted  and  surely  he  must  be 
the  better  for  it. 

Toward  midnight  the  sick  man  showed  signs  of  disturbance. 
He  began  to  toss  and  mutter  incoherently  and  every  few 
minutes  threw  up  his  arms  with  a  sharp  cry.  His  wife  pre 
pared  a  quieting  drink  and  tried  to  induce  him  to  swallow 
it,  but  in  vain.  His  ravings  became  so  violent  that  she  was 
forced  to  call  both  Aunt  Eunice  and  Jem  to  her  assistance. 
Before  morning  however  he  quieted  down  again  and  sank 
into  a  sleep  which  lasted  most  of  the  day,  and  thus  for  two 
weeks  alternated  between  delirium  and  stupor,  without  a 
single  rational  interval. 

Strange  to  say,  there  were  no  inquiries  after  Brother 
Wallace  during  his  sickness,  and  with  the  exception  of  Mrs. 
Mears,  who  staid  with  them  most  of  the  time  and  relieved 
Aunt  Eunice  of  her  household  cares  that  she  might  wait 
upon  her  sick  master,  no  one  came  near  them.  Toward  the 
end  of  the  second  week  Jem  came  in  from  the  street  and 
called  Aunt  Eunice  out  on  the  back  porch. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  247 

"Auntie,"  he  said,  "there's  a  chap  at  the  gate,  with  some 
farm  truck,  and  he  wants  to  see  Mrs.  Wallace." 

"You  go  'long",  Aunt  Eunice  answered  with  some  asperi 
ty.  "What  for  you  'spose  Miss  Esther  would  bodder  'bout 
sech  trash  when  she  can't  leabe  Massa  Wallace  for  abressed 
minnit." 

"Better  go  stay  with  him  yourself  then,  for  that  man  is  so 
earnest  to  see  the  mistress  I  reckon  he's  got  some  word  for 
her." 

''Mebbe  det's  so  Jem.  You's  a  wise  chile  after  all.  I'll 
tell  Miss  Esther  sure." 

Aunt  Eunice  knocked  softly  at  the  door  of  the  sick-room. 
"Let  me  stay  a  minnit  with  Massa,  honey.  Dere's  somebody 
out  hyar  is  'bliged  to  see  you."  As  Esther  came  out  the 
stranger,  preceded  by  Jem,  walked  in  at  the  kitchen  door. 
He  was  apparently  not  much  older  than  Jem  himself  and 
wore  the  ordinary  rough,  homespun  dress  of  the  farmer  lads 
who  came  in  every  day  to  market.  As  he  stood  before  the 
lady,  twirling  his  whip  in  his  hands,  he  seemed  more  than 
commonly  awkward  and  ill  at  ease. 

"What  do  you  wish?"  Mrs.  Wallace  asked  pleasantly. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  might  be  wanting  to  buy  some 
winter  potatoes" — then  glancing  at  Jem  who  stood  on  the 
walk  outside  he  added  in  a  hurried  whisper  "I  must  see  you 
alone,  Mrs.  Wallace."  "Step  this  way"  she  answered  in  the 
same  tone,  pointing  to  an  inner  room  —  then  aloud  —  "I 
will  perhaps  buy  a  few  bushels,  if  they  are  good"  and  then 
calling  to  Jem  to  go  to  the  barn  and  look  for  a  large  basket, 
Mrs.  Wallace  turned  from  the  door  and  stepping  into  the 
next  room  confronted  her  strange  visitor.  The  lad  removed 
his  hat,  and  disclosed  a  face  pale  in  spite  of  its  sunburned 
tints  and  boyish  blue  eyes  that  were  full  of  trouble  and 
dread.  "Mrs  Wallace"  he  began  in  a  low  hesitating  voice, 
"I  was  with  your  husband  at — at  the  Meadows.  I  went 


248  IN  THE  TOILS. 

there  as  he  did  without  knowing  what  for.  They  told  us 
the  Indians  were  killing  the  emigrants  and  we  must  go  and 
help  them.  I  stood  beside  Brother  Wallace  when  they  gave 
the  order  to  fire.  I  saw  his  gun  drop  from  his  hands — saw 
him  fall  the  next  minute.  I  know  he  never  fired  a  shot 
or  struck  a  blow  and  no  more  did  I ;  nor  would  I  not  even 
if  they  held  a  gun  to  my  head  to  make  me  do  it.  And  yet 
I've  never  had  a  day's  peace  or  a  night's  rest  since.  I 
never  will  have  until  I  drop  into  my  grave.  Oh  it  was  aw 
ful — awful ! — and  the  women  and  children — Oh  me  !" 

He  stopped,  shuddering,  and  covered  his  eyes  with  his- 
hands  as  if  to  shut  out  some  horrible  sight.  "The  women  ! 
The  children!  What  of  them?"  Esther  found  strength  to 
put  this  question,  though  her  senses  reeled  and  the  room 
was  turning  dark  before  her. 

"  Don't  ask  me.  I  have  said  too  much  already.  I  only 
wanted  you  to  know  that  Brother  Wallace  was  not  guilty. 
I  have  come  a  long  way  to  tell  you  this,  and  if  I'm  found 
out  they  will  kill  me  too,  but  I  don't  care.  I've  wished 
myself  dead  a  good  many  times  since  then."  Without 
waiting  for  another  word  he  picked  up  his  whip,  replaced 
his  hat,  which  he  pulled  low  over  his  eyes,  and  hurried  out 
to  the  gate,  where  Jem  who  seemed  to  understand  his  part 
in  the  business,  was  measuring  the  potatoes,  which  were 
paid  for  by  Aunt  Eunice  who  soon  made  her  appearance 
and  called  John  from  the  barn  to  help  carry  them  into  the 
cellar. 

It  was  well  for  more  than  one  of  the  parties  concerned 
that  this  very  commonplace  transaction  covered  the  real 
object  of  the  stranger's  visit,  for,  unknown  to  the  Wallaces, 
vigilant  eyes  watched  their  house  night  and  day  and  none 
went  in  or,  came  out,  unmarked. 

Esther  looking  out  from  behind  her  closed  blinds,  saw 
the  wagon  drive  away  with  mingled  feelings.  The  dreadful 


IN  THE  TOILS.  249 

news  of  the  massacre  was  only  a  confirmation  of  what  she 
had  believed  for  weeks,  and  the  certainty  of  the  emigrants, 
fate  was  no  worse  than  the  horrible  suspense  of  the  pas,, 
month. 

Then  she  had  at  least  one  consolation.  Her  husband 
had  no  part  in  the  awful  crime.  She  entered  the  bed-room 
softly,  and  looked  at  him  as  he  lay  asleep.  During  the  past 
two  weeks  his  ravings  had  told  much  of  the  story  of  his 
mental  tortures  since  the  night  of  poor  Pauline's  murder. 
His  wife  thought  she  understood  now  how  he  loathed  the 
slavery  he  had  brought  himself  into,  and  she  believed  he 
would  welcome  death  as  a  deliverance  from  it.  Was  the 
end  near?  It  seemed  so,  as  he  lay  there  so  ghastly,  so 
wasted  and  drawing  his  breath  with  short  quick  gasps. 

For  nearly  an  hour  she  sat  thus,  silently  watching  him 
occasionally  wetting  his  lips  with  a  little  wine  and  water. 

She  noticed  at  length  that  his  breathing  appeared  more 
natural,  and  placing  her  hand  on  his  forehead  was  certain 
she  felt  a  little  moisture.  He  was  better,  surely,  and  with 
a  beating  heart  she  bent  over  him,  hoping,  almost  for  the 
the  first  time,  that  he  might  be  restored  not  only  to  life,  but 
to  her. 

Another  hour  passed.  He  still  seemed  to  be  in  a  quiet, 
refreshing  sleep.  Esther  moved  softly  about  the  room, 
putting  things  in  order.  When  she  turned  to  the  bed  again, 
she  met  her  husband's  eyes,  which  were  open  and  following 
her  with  a  look  in  which  there  was  none  of  the  wildness  of 
the  fever.  She  spoke  to  him  and  he  answered  rationally, 
and  for  the  first  time  asked  for  Winnie.  The  little  girl  was 
not  far  off,  for  when  not  allowed  in  the  sick  room  she  kept 
her  post  outside  the  door,  unless  sent  away  by  her  mother 
into  the  open  air. 

Poor  child  !  She  was  almost  wild  with  joy  when  she 
learned  that  papa  was  better  and  had  really  asked  for  her, 


250  IN  THE  TOILS. 

but  with  a  thoughtfulness  beyond  her  years,  she  came  softly 
into  the  room  and  spoke  to  him  as  quietly  as  though  she 
had  talked  to  him  every  day. 

From  this  time  Wallace  improved  steadily  and  rapidly 
and  in  less  than  a  week  was  able  to  sit  up.  As  he  grew 
stronger  his  wife  thought  she  perceived  a  change  in  him,  but 
one  hard  to  define.  It  seemed  almost  as  though  the  mem 
ory  of  the  past  two  years  had  been  swept  away  from  his 
mind  and  he  had  gone  back  to  the  old  days  in  the  stone 
house. 

He  never  made  the  least  allusion  to  his  present  position 
and  surroundings,  but  talked  freely  and  naturally  upon 
subjects  that  used  to  interest  him  in  his  former  life. 

When,  however,  he  grew  so  much  better  as  to  be  able  to 
walk  out  he  became  more  reserved. 

He  was  kinder  than  ever  to  his  wife  and  child  and  seemed 
full  of  solicitude  for  their  comfort,  but  he  talked  little  and 
spent  much  of  his  time  in  his  study,  seldom  going  anywhere 
except  to.  the  service  in  the  Ward  meeting-house  on  Sunday 
morning,  and  his  attendance  there  his  wife  thought  must  be 
compulsory  for  he  went  and  came  in  silence  and  with  a  face 
of  the  deepest  gloom. 

The  winter  this  year  set  in  early  and  was  unusually 
stormy  ; — which  perhaps  accounted  for  the  fact  that  they 
had  few  visitors. 

It  was  an  unspeakable  relief  to  Esther  to  be  spared  the 
almost  constant  presence  of  the  Ward  Bishop,  his  counsel 
lors,  and  various  oiher  brethern  who  used  to  make  them 
selves  quite  at  home  at  her  house,  but  most  of  all  she  felt 
thankful  that  the  evil  face  of  Elder  Harwood  never  darkened 
their  clo.ors.  Incidentally  she  heard  that  he  had  gone  to 
Australia,  and  she  earnestly  hoped  he  might  stay  there.  In 
his  absence  Wallace  seemed  to  recover  something  of  his 
former  independence  and  in  many  respects  their  home  life 


IN  THE  TOILS.  251 

was  almost  as  pleasant   as  before  his   baleful   shadow   fell 
across  their  pathway.        ****** 

More  than  three  months  had  now  elapsed  since  the  emi 
grant  train  left  Salt  Lake,  and  still  nothing  was  said 
publicly  about  its  fate.  The  Deseret  News,  the  only  paper 
then  published  in  the  Territory,  never  mentioned  the  sub 
ject.  At  first  Esther  looked  over  its  columns  every  day 
thinking  possibly  she  might  find  something  which  would 
give  a  clue,  however  slight,  that  if  followed  might  enable 
her  to  learn  whether  any  of  the  doomed  emigrants  had 
escaped  alive,  but  as  the  weeks  passed  by  she  gave  up  the 
search  as  hopeless.  To-night  she  picked  up  the  paper 
from  the  floor  where  her  husband  had  dropped  it  and  glan 
cing  carelessly  over  the  column  which  first  met  her  eye,  her 
attention  was  arrested  by  the  following  paragraph : 

"  MORE  INDIAN  TROUBLES. 

"It  seems,  as  we  prophesied  long  ago,  that  emigrant  travel 
across  the  plains  to  California  is  to  be  a  never-ending  source 
of  trouble  with  the  Indians.  Our  readers  will  remember, 
that  quite  a  large  company  of  emigrants  bound  for  Califor 
nia  passed  through  this  City  about  three  months  ago,  in 
tending  to  take  the  Southern  route  to  the  Coast.  Brethren 
coming  in  from  the  settlements  through  which  they  passed 
brought  reports  at  the  time  concerning  the  lawless  conduct 
of  these  emigrants,  mentioning  among  other  things  that 
they  had  poisoned  a  spring  used  by  the  Indians  and  also  dis 
tributed  the  flesh  of  a  poisoned  ox  among  them.  It  ap 
pears  that  the  savages  were  so  exasperated  by  this  that  they 
followed  the  emigrants  to  the  southern  boundary  of  the  ter 
ritory  surrounded  their  camp  at  night  and  surprised  them. 
From  the  rumors  which  have  reached  us  we  can  only  glean 
enough  to  make  it  certain  that  the  emigrants  got  worsted  in 
the  fight.  Their  stock  and  considerable  other  property  be- 


252  IN  THE  TOILS. 

longing  to  them  has  been  seen  in  the  possession  of  the  Indi 
ans; — also  a  number  of  white  children  too  young  to  give  an 
account  of  themselves  but  supposed  to  belong  to  the  missing 
emigrants.  At  the  instance  of  Brother  John  D.  Lee  who 
has  charge  of  Indian  affairs  in  the  South,  the  children  have 
been  ransomed  and  placed  in  families  where  they  are  kindly 
cared  for.  A  report  has  just  reached  us  that  an  agent  sent 
out  by  Government  will  soon  be  back  here  to  gather  up 
these  children  and  take  them  back  to  the  States.  If  this  is 
so,  it  seems  to  us  that  the  government  should  also  pay  those 
who  have  with  their  private  means  ransomed  the  children  and 
taken  care  of  them  until  the  present.  " 

Here  was  "news"  truly.  What  had  inspired  the  priests 
who  conducted  the  paper  to  make  this  late  mention  of  the 
fate  of  the  slaughtered  emigrants?  Since  her  husband's 
sickness  Esther  had  remained  so  closely  at  home  that  if  ru 
mors  of  the  deed  of  blood  were  circulating  among  the  peo 
ple  she  would  have  had  no  opportunity  of  hearing  them. 
Now  she  bethought  herself  of  Mrs.  Nye  and  decided  to  go 
there  in  the  morning  and  talk  the  matter  over.  Mrs.  Nye 
was  a  Bureau  of  information  in  herself,  as  her  friend  some 
times  pleasantly  told  her.  She  went  out  a  great  deal,  and 
was,  if  the  truth  must  be  owned,  rather  fond  of  gossip.  If 
anything  out  of  the  usual  way  happened,  Mrs.  Nye  would 
hear  of  it  if  anybody  did.  News  that  circulated  in  whis 
pers  reached  her  ears  through  -women  who,  though  disaffect 
ed  like  herself  were  cautious  enough  to  keep  their  practical 
opinions  from  the  knowledge  of  the  Priesthood. 

It  was  still  early  when  Mrs.  Wallace  rapped  at  Mrs.  Nye's 
door  the  next  morning.  The  weather  was  damp  and  un 
pleasant  and  there  were  few  people  on  the  streets  but  the 
police,  faithful  in  the  performance  of  their  duty  as  spies 
would  be  likely  to  be  on  the  alert;  so  Esther  made  her  ap- 


IN  THE  TOILS,  253 

pearance  at  her  neighbor's  house  with  a  bundle  of  dry-goods 
in  her  arms,  which,  as  Mrs.  Nye  did  a  little  dress-making 
offered  a  convenient  excuse  for  her  visit. 

It  no  doubt  seems  incredible  to  the  readers  of  this  nar 
rative  that  in  aTerritory  of  the  United  States,  a  little  more 
than  a  dozen  years  ago  a  lady  could  not  make  a  morning 
call  without  being  watched  and  followed  by  the  city  police, 
but  the  writer  wishes  it  to  be  distinctly  understood  that  such 
was  the  actual  fact,  and  that  the  pictures  of  social  life  in  the 
Mormon  capital  which  these  pages  present  are  not  over 
drawn  in  the  least  particular. 

When  both  ladies  were  seated  in  Mrs.  Nye's  upper  room 
a  little  out  of  the  hearing  of  anyone  who  might  be  listening 
below,  Mrs.  Wallace  unfolded  her  copy  of  the  News  and 
pointed  out  to  her  neighbor  the  article  which  prompted  her 
visit. 

"I  had  not  seen  this"  Mrs.  Nye  said  after  looking  it  over 
"but  I  can  translate  it  easily  enough.  Dr.  Forney,  the  Gov 
ernment  agent  spoken  of,  is  already  in  the  City,  and  Brother 
Carrington  means  to  anticipate  his  inquiries.  Also  Brig- 
ham  Young,  who  is  as  you  know,  Superintendent  of  Indian 
affairs  for  this  Territory  as  well  as  Governor  means  to  turn 
an  honest  penny  by  bringing  in  a  bill  for  the  pretended  ran 
som  of  the  children.  You  will  see  that  when  the  affair 
comes  to  be  investigated  he  will  claim  that  the  brethren  who 
have  the  children  in  their  care  have  been  paid  by  him  for 
all  expenses  incurred." 

"  You  don't  think  then  that  the  Indians  ever  had  the 
children  ?  " 

"  I  know  just  the  contrary.  You  have  not  been  here 
lately  and  I  have  not  seen  you  anywhere  where  it  was  safe 
to  speak  above  one's  breath,  or  I  could  have  told  you  much. 
I  went  South  myself  as  far  as  Parowan  six  weeks  after  the 
massacre,  (for  that  is  what  it  was,)  and  I  saw  some  of  those 


254  IN  THE  TOILS. 

v^ry  children.     They  were  in   Mormon  families,    and   had 
been  since  the  day  their  parents  were  killed." 

"Killed  by  the  Indians?" 

"No,  by  white  men;  by  the  priests  and  elders  of  this  ac 
cursed  Church;  by  the  very  men  who  have  their  property 
and  their  little  ones  to-day.  Listen.  In  the  family  in  which 
I  stopped  there  was  a  beautiful  little  girl  about  six  years  old, 
the  child  of  one  of  the  murdered  emigrants, — ransomed 
from  the  Indians, — so  they  told  me.  One  day  when,  as  it 
happened,  the  family  were  out,  a  poor  woman  living  next 
door  came  in  with  a  shawl  which  she  wanted  me  to  buy. 
It  was  a  handsome  and  costly  one  but  she  was  plainly  ig 
norant  of  its  value,  for  she  offered  it  to  me  for  less  than 
a  quarter  of  its  real  worth. 

"The  little  girl  was  in  the  room  when  the  shawl  was  spread 
out  for  examination.  As  soon  as  she  saw  it,  she  clasped  her 
hands  and  uttered  a  startled  exclamation.  The  woman  did 
not  seem  to  notice  her  and  as  I  declined  buying,  went  out 
to  find  a  purchaser  elsewhere. 

"As  the  door  closed  behind  her,  the  child  turned  to  me 
with  a  piteous  look. 

'  That  was  my  mother's  shawl,'  she  said  'Why  did  she 
take  it  away  ? ' 

"'Where  is  your  mother?  '    I  asked. 

"  '  Dead  !  dead  !  They  killed  her  and  the  baby,  I  saw  the 
blood,  Oh,  dear!  ' 

"  Then  beginning  to  cry,  she  clung  to  my  dress  saying: 

'  Dont  tell  please.     At  the  other  place  they  beat  me  when 
I  talked  about  mother,  and  the  man  that  brought  me  here 
said  they  would  whip  me  nearly  to  death  if  I  told  abo  ut 
father  and  mother  and  the  boys.  ' 
' '  Do  they  whip  you  here  then  ?  ' 

' '  No,  I  never  say  anything  and  they  think  I  don't  remember, 
but  I  do.  I  saw  them  all  killed,  and  I  saw  the  Indian  that 


IN  THE  TOILS.  255 

killed  mother,  wash  his  face  at  the  spring,  and  he  was  a 
white  man.  He  took  me  home  with  him.  I  did'nt  want  to 
go,  but  I  was  afraid,  so  afraid.  Then  the  women  at  his 
house  said  she  couldn't  bear  to  look  at  me,  and  so  he 
brought  me  here.  He  had  some  of  mother 'sthings  but  the 
woman  told  him  to  take  them  c.\vay.  She  said  there  was 
blood  on  them,  but  there  wasn't,  they  were  clean  things, 
out  of  mothers  trunk.  This  man  here,  was  there  with  a  gun 
too,  I  saw  him  but  he  dont  know  it.  Oh  wont  you  take 
me  away  please?  I'll  be  good  always  if  you  will.' 

"I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Wallace,  the  poor  little  thing's  pitiful  looks 
and  words  almost  broke  my  heart.  I  would  have  given  all 
I  had  in  the  world  to  take  her  home  with  me,  but  I  knew 
this  would  not  be  allowed.  I  didn't  dare  hint  such  a  thing 
even,  lest  they  should  suspect  that  the  child  had  talked  with 
me.  I  comforted  her  as  well  as  I  could  by  the  promise  that 
she  should  be  taken  away  soon  and  I  hope  Dr.  Forney  is 
going  to  redeem  my  promise  now." 

Mrs.  Nye  told  the  dreadful  story  with  strong  dramatic 
emphasis,  and  rendered  the  child's  description  of  the  deed 
of  blood  in  such  a  manner  that  her  listener  could  not  repress 
a  cry  of  horror.  Now  at  the  close  of  the  narration  she 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  a  face  so  white  that  Mrs.  Nye 
thought  her  fainting,  and  sprang  up  in  quest  of  restoratives. 

"Don't  get  me  anything"  she  said.  "I  shall  not  faint; 
this  is  not  a  time  for1  fainting,  but  for  action.  If  there  is  a 
Government  agent  here,  all  the  details  of  this  awful  crime 
must  be  furnished  him,  that  it  may  be  punished  as  it  deserves. 

"  Dr.  Forney  can  get  evidence  enough  if  he  goes  to  work 
in  the  right  way,  but  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  a  longtime  before 
justice  overtakes  the  murderers.  I  haven't  much  faith  in 
a  Government  that  puts  Brigham  Young  at  the  head  of 
everything  here.  " 

Three  months  later,  when  with  the  children  which  hehml 


256  IN  THE  TOILS. 

gathered  from  the  different  settlements  in  his  care,  Dr.Fonuy 
returned  to  Salt  Lake,  Mrs.  Wallace  sought  and  obtained 
an  interview  with  him,  but  though  she  learned  that  the 
facts  elicited  by  his  inquiries,  were  such  as  to  fix  the  guilt  of 
the  massacre  upon  the  Mormon  leaders,  she  found  him  not 
at  all  hopeful  of  being  able  to  interest  the  authorities  at 
Washington  in  the  matter. 

"The  fact  is  Mrs.  Wallace,  "  he  said,"the  peopL-  are  just 
now  too  much  occupied  with  political  questions  of  national 
importance  to  give  much  thought  to  anything  else.  Utah 
is  a  long  ways  off,  and  neither  the  Territory  nor  its  in 
habitants  are  likely  to  receive  even  a  small  share  of  public 
attention.  As  for  the  officials  at  Washington,  they  are  too 
much  exercised  over  the  distribution  of  the  loaves  and  fishes 
to  find  time  to  look  into  other  affairs. 

I  shall  make  a  faithful  statement  of  the  facts  which  have 
c  me  to  my  knowledge  supported  by  such  affidavits,  as  I 
have  been  able  to  get  but  I  doubt  much  if  anything  is  done 
about  it." 

The  next  week,  having  heard  that  two  of  the  rescued 
children  were  staying  with  Mrs.  Cooke,  a  lady  with  whom 
she  was  slightly  acquainted,  she  called  on  her,  ostensibly  to 
talk  about  music  lessons  for  Winnie,  but  really  hoping  to  see 
the  children  and  possibly  exchange  a  word  with  them  alone. 
Mrs.  Cooke  taught  music  in  Brigham  Young's  family,  and 
on  this  account  Mrs.  Wallace  supposed  her  to  be  a  devout 
Mormon,  but  on  the  present  occasion  the  lady's  cordiality 
toward  herself  and  the  freedom  with  which  she  spoke  of  the 
children  and  the  circumstances  under  which  they  were 
brought  to  her,  changed  her  opinion  somewhat.  After  a 
little  time  the  children  themselves,  came  in  from  an  adjoin 
ing  room.  They  were  boys,  the  elder  apparently  between 
eight  and  nine,  the  younger  about  seven. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  Mrs.  Wallace  turned  to  her 


IN    THE  TOILS.  257 

hostess  and  said  :  "  Mrs.  Cooke,  will  you  allow  me  to  ask 
these  boys  a  few  questions  ?  I  had  relatives  in  that  unfor 
tunate  company  and  I  may  possibly  learn  something  of  their 
fate.  "  A  little  to  her  surprise  Mrs.  Cooke  answered:  "Ask 
them  anything  yuu  please.  " 

Mrs.  Wallace  called  the  elder  boy  to  her  and  said: 

"My  child,  did  you  know  Mrs.  Cleveland  and  her  daugh 
ter  Esther?" 

"Yes  ma'am." 

"Where  are  they  now?" 

"Dead,  I  think." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"I  wasn't  very  far  from  them  when — when  they  began  to 
shoot.  I  heard  somebody  say  'Run  for  your  lives'  and 
mother  and  I  were  running  as  fast  as  we  could  when  Mrs. 
Cleaveland  and  Esther  passed  us.  She  had  hold  of  Esther's 
hand.  They  were  trying  to  run  away  from  a  man  with  a 
knife, — a  white  man.  The  Indians  were  ahead  of  them  and 
they  had  guns.  Mrs.  Cleaveland  fell  down.  She  had  hold 
of  Esther.  I  think  the  Indians  shot  them  both.  They  put 
us  children  in  a  wagon  after  the  shooting  was  over,  and  we 
staid  there  while  the  white  men  talked  with  the  Indians.  I 
never  saw  Mrs.  Cleaveland  or  Esther  again.  I  never  saw  any 
of  the  women  or  the  big  boys  and  girls.  There  wasn't  any 
body  in  the  wagon  bigger  than  me,  except  Charley,  and  he 
talked  abjut  the  man  that  killed  his  father  one  night  and  in 
the  morning  they  took  him  away.  I've  never  seen  him  eith 
er  since  then.  They  told  us  he'd  gone  to  live  with  the  In 
dians." 

"Was  Charley  your  brother?" 

"No  ma'am,  they  killed  my  two  brothers  and  father  and 
mother  and  all  our  folks." 

"Who   killed   them?     The  Indians?" 

"No. — White  men  killed  them  but  the  Indians  helped." 


258  IN  THE  TOILS. 

By  this  time  both  the  children  were  trembling  and  crying, 
overcome  by  the  memory  of  all  they  had  lost. 

"Better  go  to  your  own  room,  my  dears,"  Mrs.  Cooke 
said,  and  the  boys  went  obediently,  trying  hard  to  check 
their  sobs. 

When  they  were  gone,  Mrs.  Cooke  turned  and  faced  her 
visitor. 

"This  is  dreadful,  Mrs.  Wallace,"  she  said. 

"I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  what  these  children  tell  me 
and  their  story  makes  it  only  too  clear  that  white  men — Mor 
mons — have  committed  a  crime  that  savages  would  shrink 
from." 

"And  is  it  not  also  apparent  that  this  whole  people  have 
aided  in  covering  up  the  crime?" 

"No.  For  multitudes  of  our  people  knew  nothing  of  it; 
many  know  nothing  of  it  to  this  day,  but  we  will  not 
talk  about  it,  talking  can  do  no  good  now  and  the  whole  sub 
ject  is  something  too  horrible  to  dwell  upon." 

After  a  few  words  more  upon  ordinary  topics,  Mrs.  Wal 
lace  took  her  leave,  carrying  with  her  the  conviction  that 
Mrs.  Cooke  believed  the  Mormon  leaders  responsible  for 
the  massacre,  and  the  impression  that  she  would  no  longer 
follow  such  leaders.  She  learned  soon  afterwards  that  Dr. 
Forney  had  returned  to  the  States  taking  the  two  boys  with 
him,  the  other  children  having  been  previously  sent  East 
under  a  safe  escort. 


PART  II.— CHAPTER  vii. 

TWO   YEARS    AFTER.  — TIGHTENING  OF  THE  TOILS. THE 

BLOW  SO  LONG  DELAYED  FALLS  AT  LAST. 

We  pass  now  over  an  interval  of  two  years. 

It  is  spring  again  in  the  City  of  the  Saints.  The  valleys, 
filled  to  the  brim  with  bloom  and  verdure,  and  bound  with 
a  glittering  circlet  of  snowy  peaks  are  more  lovely  than 
ever.  The  air  is  heavy  with  the  fragrance  of  a  thousand 
blossoming  orchards.  The  Lake  glows  like  molten  gold 
under  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  and  rosy  lights  and  purple 
shadows  clothe  the  mountains  like  a  monarch's  robe.  There 
is  nothing  to  mar  the  perfect  beauty  of  the  picture.  No 
rude  sound  breaks  the  almost  Sabbath  stillness. 

The  blue  waters  of  the  Jordan  tell  no  tales  of  those  who 
sleep  beneath  them.  There  is  no  crimson  stain  on  the  sod 
of  the  valley  and  the  mountains  give  no  sign  of  the  bleaching 
bones  hidden  in  the  caverns. 

"  What  a  fair  mantle  to  cover  so  much  that  is  vile!  " 

This  thought  was  always  present  to  one  at  least  whose 
eyes  rested  on  the  beautiful  landscape  spread  out  under 
May  skies. 

To-night  as  on  many  other  nights,  Esther  Wallace  sat  on 
the  balcony  of  her  house  with  her  daughter  beside  her 
and  echoed  the  longing  of  the  Psalmist:  *'  Oh  that  I  had 
wings  like  a  dove!  " 

Had  she  been  aloue,  for   her  husband's  sake   she  might 


260  IN   THE  TOILS. 

have  resigned  herself  to  what  seemed  her  inevitable  fate. 

But  she  was  not  alone. 

Winnie,  growing  more  beautiful  with  every  passing  year 
was  now  nearly  twelve  and  so  womanly  in  appearance  that 
she  might  have  been  thought  three  years  older. 

The  mother's  eyes  turned  from  the  landscape  to  rest  on 
the  fairer  picture  at  her  feet. 

Winnie  knelt  on  a  cushion  with  her  head  resting  against 
her  mother's  knee.  The  level  rays  of  the  setting  sun  shone 
on  the  rippling  waves  of  her  chestnut  hair  and  as  the  mother 
looked  down  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  glory  encircled  her 
darling's  head. 

Long  and  tenderly  her  gaze  lingered  on  the  kneeling 
figure  and  the  uplifted  face  tinged  with  a  sweet  seriousness 
which  did  not  belong  to  her  childish  years. 

Winnie's  violet  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  distant  mountain 
tops  as  though  she  too  shared  the  longing  that  stirred  her 
mother's  heart. 

A  flock  of  gulls  rose  slowly  from  the  lake  and  sailed  away 
eastward.  She  turned  her  head  and  followed  their  flight 
with  a  wistful  look.  When  they  were  out  of  sight  she  sighed 
audibly. 

"  What  is  it  my  daughter  ?  "  asked  the  mother. 

"  I  have  been  watching  those  birds,  mamma.  It  is  so  easy 
for  them  to  get  away,  so  hard  for  us, — and  then  they  don't 
have  to  leave  anybody  behind  that  they  love.  " 

"  Dear,  have  you  forgotten  who  it  is  that  cares  for  the 
birds  and  asks  '  Are  ye  not  better  than  they  ?  '  ' 

"No  mamma,  I  have  not  forgotton,  and  that  is  the  only  thing 
that  makes  it  possible  to  live  here.  The  sun  shines  and  the 
flowers  grow  in  this  dreadful  country,  and  all  the  little 
things — the  birds,  and  the  squirrels,  and  rabbits  that  we  see 
when  we  walk  out  on  the  hills,  are  taken  care  of,  so  God 
must  be  here  too.  " 


IN  THE  TOILS.  261 

"That  reminds  me  of  a  hymn  my  mother  used  to  sing 
when  I  was  a  very  little  child." 

"  Sing  it  to-night  mamma.  " 

And  in  a  low  sweet  voice,  and  with  her  eyes  raised  to  the 
calm  heavens,  Esther  sang : 

Could  I  be  cast  where  Thou  art  not, 
That  were  indeed  a  dreadful  lot, 

But  regions  none  remote  I  call, 
Secure  of  finding  God  in  all. 

I  hold  by  nothing  here  below, 
Appoint  my  journey  and  I  go. 

Though  friends  forsake  and  foes  deride, 
I  feel  The  good; — feel  naught  beside. 

To  me  remains  nor  place  nor  time, 
My  country  is  in  every  clime, 

I  can  be  calm  and  free  from  care 
On  any  shore,  since  God  is  there. 

"That  is  very  beautiful  mamma,  I  only  wish  we  could 
feel  so  ." 

"  We  might,  if  we  had  the  faith  that  comforted  and  sus 
tained  the  sorely-tried  one  who  wrote  the  hymn." 

"  Who  is  it  mamma  ?  " 

"  One  who  lived  and  died  long  ago.  She  was  called 
Madam  Guion.  " 

A  summons  from  below  here  interrupted  the  conversa 
tion,  and  hand  in  hand  the  mother  and  daughter  descended 
the  stairway.  In  the  hall  Aunt  Eunice  met  them  and  handed 
her  mistress  a  a  note.  Esther  opened  it  and  read: 

"  MY  ONLY  FRIEND  : 
Will  you  come  to  me  to-night  ?     Robbie  is  dying. 

THERESA  St.  CLAIR.  " 

She  passed  the  note  to  Winnie  who  read  it  and  turned  to 
her  with  tearful  eyes. 

"  May  I  go  with  you  mamma  ?  " 


262  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  No  love.  I  will  stay  all  night,  and  you  will  be  better 
at  home,  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Wallace,  who  at  the  moment  en 
tered  the  hall. 

"  Mrs.  St.  Clair  has  sent  for  me.    Her  boy  is  dying.  " 

"  Shall  you  go  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  " 

"  I  will  go  with  you  then.  It  is  too  far  for  you  to  think 
of  going  alone,  and  if  you  have  to  stay  all  night,  I  will 
come  for  you  in  the  morning.  " 

It  may  be  remarked  here  that  ever  since  the  occurrences 
of  two  years  ago,  Wallace  seemed  nervously  afraid  of  having 
his  wife  or  Winnie  go  out  alone,  even  in  the  day  time.  He 
always  accompanied  them  himself  if  possible  and  when 
unavoidably  absent  made  them  promise  to  take  Aunt  Eunice 
or  Jem  with  them. 

Now  as  soon  as  Esther  was  equipped  for  her  walk  he 
presented  himself  at  the  door  and  giving  her  his  arm  rather 
hurried  her  steps  down  the  path  and  along  the  sidewalk. 

"  You  are  going  almost  too  fast  for  me,  "  she  said  when 
at  a  little  distance  from  their  own  gate.  "  Why  do  you 
hurry  so  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  going  to  be  quite  dark.  The  new  moon 
gives  a  little  light  now,  and  I  want  you  to  reach  Mrs.  St. 
Glair's  before  it  sets." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  dark.  " 

"  No,  perhaps  not.     But  the    light  is  safer  nevertheless." 

The  husband  and  wife  talked  little  during  their  rapid 
walk.  Wallace,  as  we  have  noted  before,  had  grown  to  be 
a  reserved,  silent  man ;  and  to-night  Esther's  mind  was 
filled  with  thoughts  of  her  sorrowing  friend. 

At  the  door  Wallace  bade  nis  wife  good-night,  declining 
to  enter  but  promising  to  call  for  her  early  in  the  morning. 

Esther  rapped  softly  and  the  do'jr  was  opened  by   Bern- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  263 

ard,  one  of  the  twins,  now  grown  to  be  tall  boys  of  twelve. 

Mrs.  St.  Clair  sat  beside  Robbie's  bed,  supporting  him  in 
her  arms.  At  first  sight  he  did  not  seem  like  one  near 
death.  His  fair  hair  was  brushed  back  from  his  transparent 
temples,  his -blue  eyes  shone  with  almost  startling  brilliancy 
and  there  was  a  bright  crimson  spot  on  either  cheek. 

He  smiled  as  Esther  drew  near  the  bed.  "I  thank  you 
for  coming,  "  he  said,  "  you  are  very  good.  "  His  voice 
sounded  clear  and  strong,  and  she  thought  it  must  be  as1 
hard  for  the  mother  as  it  was  for  her  to  realize  that  the  hand 
of  death  was  upon  him. 

"  You  knew  I  would  come  Robbie.  Why  did  you  not 
send  for  me  before  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Mother  did  not  think  me  any  worse  than  usual  until 
this  week,  and  we  have  taxed  your  kindness  so  much,  but  I 
am  glad  you  are  here  now, — glad  for  her  sake  as  well  as  for 
my  own.  " 

"  I  have  come  to  stay,  Robbie,  but  you  must  not  talk  too 
much.  " 

"  That  is  what  I  have  just  said  to  him.  " 

It  was  Mrs.  St.  Clair  who  now  spoke  for  the  first  time. 
She  had  acknowledged  Esther's  entrance  by  a  grateful  look 
and  a  pressure  of  the  hand  but  when  she  tried  to  speak,  her 
voice  refused  to  serve  her. 

"  Mother  "  and  Robbie  turned  his  bright  eyes  full  upon 
her,  "  let  me  talk  to-night.  I  must  say  all  I  have  to  say 
in  a  little  while. 

.A  spasm  of  pain  passed  over  the  mother's  face.  She 
lifted  her  eyes,  full  of  anguish,  towards  Heaven,  and  the  cry 
of  burdened  hearts  through  all  time  found  utterance  in  the 
unforgotten  language  of  her  childhood  : 

Licber  Gott,  erbarme  Dich  meiner. 

"  Mother,  mother,  He  does  have  pity.     Is  it  not  His  pity, 


264  IN  THE  TOILS. 

His  love,  that  is  lifting  me  above  all  pain  and  sorrow  into 
his  blessed  rest  ?  " 

"  Child,  I  do  not  grieve  because  you  are  going,  but  be 
cause  I  must  stay ;  "  then  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  two 
boys  who  were  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  she  added 
remorsefully  : 

"But  I  should  not  wish  to  go  and  leave  these  behind,  like 
lambs  in  the  wolf's  den. — I  who  brought  them  here.  " 

"Mother!"  Robbie  raised  his  head  from  her  arm  and 
looked  from  one  to  another  with  the  clear  glance  of  dying 
eyes — eyes  that  see  through  and  beyond  the  mists  of  earth, 
"  Am  I  going  so  very  far  away  ?  Remember  how  you  used 
to  love  the  lines  in  Uncle  Rupert's  book. 

*Ich  sag'  es  Jedem  das  er  lebt 
Und  auferstanden  ist, 
Das  er  in  unserer  Mitte  schwcbt 
Und  ewig  bei  uns  ist. 

"  And  who  knows  ?  Maybe  the  dear  God   will  let  me  do 
something  for  you  and  the  boys  when  I  am  gone  to  Him.  " 
''Oh  Robbie."  It  was    Bernard's  voice,  broken  with  sobs, 
that  answered.     "What  can  you  do  for  us  when  we  are  never 
to  see  you  any  more.     You  will  be    gone  from    the  house, 
gone  when  we  come  in  to  talk  to  you  or  bring  you  something 
we  have  found, — gone,  and   how   will  we  live  without  you?' 
Robbie  held  out  his  thin  hands  to  both  his  brothers. 
"Come  to  me  Bernard,  and  you  too  Herman. 
"How  strong   your  hands  are!     How  warm!     They  are 
kind  hands  too.     They  have  done  a  great  deal  for  me,  and 
they  will  work  for  mother  I  know. 

*  An  inadequate  translation  of  these  beautiful  lines  of  Novalis  is  given 
below  : 

I  say  of  each  one  that  he  lives ; 
That  he  is  risen  ; 
That  he  moves  in  our  midst 
And  Is  forever  with  us. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  265 

"Brothers,"  and  Robbie's  voice  was  very  tender,  "  I  shall 
love  you  just  as  well  when  you  cannot  see  me  as  I  do  now. 
I  will  never  forget  you.  I  will  watch  for  you  till  you  come 
to  me,  and  while  I  am  watching  and  waiting  you  must  take 
care  of  mother.  Promise  me  now  that  while  you  live  you 
will  try  never  to  do  anything  that  would  wound  her  dear 
heart." 

"We  do  promise,"  said  both  the  boys  together,  their  sobs 
hushed,  whi  e  Robbie  still  held  their  hands. 

"Now  do  one  thing  more  for  me,  like  the  good  boys  that 
you  are.  Lie  down  and  sleep  until  mother  calls  you.  I 
think  I  can  rest  awhile,  if  I  know  that  none  of  you  are  griev 
ing  for  me." 

The  boys  obeyed,  and  Robbie  added,  "Mother  darling,  fix 
my  pillows  so  that  I  can  lie  down,  and  then  let  Mrs.  Wallace 
sit  beside  me  while  you  rest." 

When  his  wish  was  complied  with,  Mrs.  Wallace  took  the 
chair  beside  him.  He  motioned  his  mother  to  a  low  seat 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed  saying,  "If  you  will  only  sit  there  and 
rest  your  poor  tired  head  on  a  pillow  I  can  sleep.  I  would 
have  nothing  to  trouble  me  now  if  you  were  not  so  tired  and 
so  sorrwful." 

The  mother  did  her  best  to  please  him.  He  watched  her 
a  few  minutes,  and  then  thinking  she  was  really  resting, 
closed  his  own  eyes  and  in  a  little  while  slept. 

The  hours  of  the  night  wore  on.  The  two  anxious  watch 
ers  kept  their  places,  speaking  in  whispers,  and  listening  to 
thrf  sleeper's  quick,  irregular  breathing.  Gradually  the  color 
faded  out  from  his  face  and  a  clammy  moisture  covered  his 
cheeks  and  forehead. 

Esther  wiped    it  away,    keeping  her   finger  on  his  pulse. 

The  day  was  beginning  to  break  and  still  he  slept.  The 
mother  put  back  the  curtain  and  let  the  light  fall  upon  his 
face.  He  stirred  a  little  and  partially  unclosed  his  eyes. 


266  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"Call  the  boys,"  Esther  said  in  a  quick  whisper.  The 
mother  roused  them  and  in  a  moment  they  stood  with  her 
beside  the  bed.  "Robbie"  she  said  aloud.  He  opened  his 
eyes  and  fixed  them  on  her  face  with  a  clear  bright  look,  then 
tried  to  reach  out  his  hands.  "My  brothers!  Where  are 
they?"  The  boys  pressed  nearer.  "Good  bye  Bernard,  Good 
bye  Herman.  I  am  going  to  the  dear  God.  Mother,  good 
bye.  I  see  a  light.  They  are  coming.  Kiss  me  once  be 
fore  I  go." 

His  lids  dropped,  his  voice  failed,  and  every  faint,  flutter 
ing  breath  seemed  the  last. 

All  at  once  he  opened  his  eyes,  lifted  both  hands  and 
cried  in  a  clear,  strong  voice,  "Dear  Lord,  I  come!" 

He  sank  back,  his  limbs  relaxed  and  the  pallor  of  death 
settled  upon  his  features.  "It  is  over"  said  Esther.  "Thank 
God?  He  is  already  where  the  tears  are  wiped  from  all  faces, 
where  there  is  no  more  death  neither  sorrow  nor  crying  nor 
any  more  pain." 

The  mother  did  not  answer.  Her  whole  soul  seemed 
drawn  out  in  the  fixed  gaze  with  which  she  regarded  the  dead 
face  of  her  first-born.  The  two  boys  threw  themselves 
across  the  foot  of  the  bed  sobbing  loudly. 

Esther  put  her  arm  around  her  friend.  "Dear,  can  you 
not  give  thanks  that  all  his  weary  days  and  nights  are  end 
ed?  That  he  is  saved  from  the  evil  to  come?" 

The  last  words  roused  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said.     "He  is  out  of  the  power  of  wicked  men 

I  do  thank  God." 

********** 

Five  years  later. 

There  is  little  outward  change  in  the  principal  characters 
of  our  story,  except  such  as  time  always  makes.  The  child 
ren  have  grown  to  maturity,  and  the  men  and  women  carry 
a  few  more  scars  from  the  Battle  of  Life. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  267 

Winnie  Wallace  has  blossomed  from  childhood  into  wo 
manhood.  At  seventeen  she  is  taller  than  her  mother  and 
fairer  even  than  the  picture  that  through  her  life  has  em 
bodied  all  her  dreams  of  beauty; — the  "Queen  Esther" 
hanging  on  the  parlor  wall; — her  mother's  portrait,  painted 
the  year  of  her  marriage. 

And  the  mother, — what  of  her?  She  is  past  her  thirty- 
seventh  year,  past  the  noon  of  life,  and  though  these  years 
and  the  sorrows  they  have  brought  with  them  have  left  their 
traces  on  cheek  and  brow,  she  is  still  a  beautiful,  graceful 
woman  with  a  sweet  dignity  of  manner  and  an  air  of  com 
mand  that  keeps  for  her  the  title  earned  in  her  girlhood. 

Her  husband  is  more  changed.  He  is  only  four  years  her 
senior,  but  he  looks  older.  His  tall  figure  is  slightly  bent 
and  the  "golden  fleece"  about  which  his*  wife  used  to  jest  in 
their  honeymoon,  is  turning  to  silver.  There  are  deepline- 
of  care  on  his  still  handsome  face,  and  his  eyes,  the  beauti 
ful  violet  eyes  that  Winnie  has  inherited,  no  longer  meet 
those  of  wife  and  child  with  the  clear,  open  look  of  other 
days.  To  his  family,  these  changes  are  less  apparent  be 
cause  they  have  come  so  gradually  and  there  are  other  chang 
es  in  him  which  they  feel  less  for  the  same  reason. 

He  is  always  reserved,  often  moody,  and  though  he  never 
speaks  unkindly  to  wife  or  daughter  he  spends  little  time  in 
their  society  even  when  at  home.  His  study  is  tacitly  under 
stood  by  the  family  to  be  forbidden  ground,  and  there  he  sits 
alone,  often  with  locked  doors,  through  the  long  summer 
mornings  and  winter  evenings.  * 

On  the  particular  summer  of  which  we  are  writing,  how 
ever,  another  change  occurred  which  they  could  not  help 
noticing.  He  began  to  spend  days  and  even  weeks  away  from 
home,  "  on  business,"  he  said,  though  what  the  business  was 
he  did  not  explain.  He  spoke  sometimes  of  going  into  the 
country  to  look  at  land  or  look  at  stock,  and  once  told  his 


268  IN  THE  TOILS. 

wife,  he  thought  of  buying  a  ranche,  but  his  jaded,  har- 
rassed  looks,  when  he  returned  from  these  trips,  were  hard 
to  account  for  in  connection  with  the  every  day  business 
which  was  their  ostensible  object. 

A  growing  uneasiness  oppressed  his  wife  as  his  absences 
from  home  became  more  frequent.  She  could  hardly 
define  what  she  suspected,  but  the  fear  that  the  Priesthood 
were  drawing  him  into  complicity  with  some  fresh  crime 
haunted  her  continually: 

It  was  late  in  September  when  her  husband,  returning 
one  day  from  the  country,  brought  an  invitation  from  the 
Henlys,  with  whom  they  had  always  maintained  friendly  re 
lations.  Mrs.  Henly  wished  Mrs.  Wallace  to  bring  her 
daughter  and  spend  a  week  at  the  farm  house,  he  said,  and 
he  seemed  quite  anodous  that  they  should  go — Jem  could 
drive  and  they  must  take  Aunt  Eunice  with  them. 

Mrs.  Mead,  who  was  still  their  tenant,  could  take  care  of 
the  house  and  get  his  meals  for  him  when  at  home,  but  he 
should  probably  be  out  of  town  a  good  deal. 

Esther,  from  some  cause  which  she  could  not  explain,  felt 
reluctant  to  accept  the  invitation,  but  Winnie  was  eager  to 
go  and  her  wishes  prevailed. 

As  on  that  never-to-be-forgotten  morning  eight  years  be 
fore,  they  started  early  to  escape  the  mid-day  sun. 

Wallace  took  an  unusually  affectionate  leave  of  them,  com 
ing  back  the  second  time  to  kiss  his  wife  and  daughter  good 
bye  and  charge  Aunt  Eunice  to  take  good  care  of  both. 

When  they  reached  the  end  of  the  street  leading 
out  of  town,  Esther  looked  back  and  saw  her  husband  still 
standing  at  the  gate  watching  them.  With  a  strange  chill, 
an  undefinable  presentiment  of  evil,  she  continued  to  look 
back  until  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  him  from  her  sight. 
Never,  not  even  on  that  other  morning  when  she  thought 
she  might  be  bidding  him  good-bye  for  the  last  time,  had 


IN  THE  TOILS.  269 

she  felt  such  a  sinking  of  the  heart.  The  day  was  warm, 
but  she  shook  as  if  in  an  ague  fit. 

Winnie  was  leaning  forward,  chatting  merrily  with  Aunt 
Eunice,  and  none  of  the  party  noticed  her  agitation.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  regained  outward  self-control,  but  her  heart  lay 
like  lead  in  her  bosom  all  the  way,  and  during  their  week's 
stay  at  Henly's  the  same  feeling  continued. 

It  was  an  unspeakable  relief  to  her  when  the  time  named 
for  their  visit  expired,  and  though  Winnie  begged  to  stay  a 
little  longer  and  all  the  family  united  in  urging  them  to  do 
so,  she  would  not  delay  her  return  an  hour.  Once  on  the 
road,  a  feverish  anxiety  took  the  place  of  the  dull  pain  that 
oppressed  her  and  she  ordered  Jem  to  drive  faster,  and  re 
peated  the  order  until  the  horses  were  urged  to  their  utmost 
speed. 

They  reached  home  early  in  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Mead, 
from  her  own  door  saw  them  drive  up  and  came  over  with 
the  keys.  "  I  would  have  had  the  house  open,"  she  said 
apologetically,  "but  we  did'nt  look  for  you  so  soon." 

"  Where  is  my  husband  ?" 

"  Brother  Wallace?  Oh  he  ain't  home.  He's  been  away 
most  of  the  time  since  you  left,  but  I've  looked  after  things. 
You'll  find  the  house  all  right.  Here's  the  keys.  I  must 
run  over  home  now,  for  I've  left  some  bread  in  the  oven.  Jem 
can  call  me  if  I'm  wanted." 

Sister  Mead  appeared  considerably  "  flustrated,"  to  use  a 
favorite  expression  of  her  own.  She  never  once  raised  her 
eyes  during  the  delivery  of  this  rapid  monologue,  and  as 
soon  as  the  keys  were  out  of  her  hands  she  turned  and  ran 
towards  her  own  house  with  a  haste  which  even  burning 
bread  could  hardly  excuse. 

Aunt  Eunice  looked  after  her  muttering  : 

"  Dere's  some  more  debbiltry  afoot,  sure's  I'm  standin, 
hyar.  Dat  critter  means  well  enuff,  an'  when  she  knows 


:/°  IN  THE  TOILS. 

'bout  enny  ob  dere  wickedness  she  can't  hide  it  like  she's 
tole  for  to  do.  Wonder  what's  up  dis  time  ?  Hopes  its  nuf- 
fm  dat's  gwine  to  tech  Miss  Esther  or  dat  bressed  lamb." 
Winnie,  in  spite  of  her  tall  stature,  was  still  Aunt  Eunice's 
"  lamb,"  and  cared  for  accordingly  She  watched  her  now 
as  she  tripped  lightly  up  the  stairs,  praying  in  her  honest, 
affectionate  heart  for  her  darling's  safety,  and  not  until  the 
girl  was  out  of  sight  did  she  think  of  the  chaos  that  might 
reign  in  her  own  dominions  in  consequence  of  her  week's 
absence. 

Esther,  meantime,  had  gone  directly  to  her  own  room  on 
the  first  floor. 

As  soon  as  she  opened  the  door,  she  was  conscious  of  a 
change.  Some  familiar  articles  were  out  of  their  places, 
others  were  missing  entirely,  and  a  general  air  of  confusion 
and  disarrangment  pervaded  the  room.  Her  first  impulse 
was  to  call  Mrs.  Mead  and  speak  to  her  about  the  disordered 
furniture,  but  as  she  was  crossing  the  room  to  do  so,  her 
eye  fell  on  a  letter  lying  on  the  table  directed  to  her  in  the 
well-known  handwriting  of  her  husband.  She  took  it  up 
and  held  it  a  moment  unopened.  What  was  it?  What 
could  it  mean  ?  Again  she  felt  her  heart  turning  to  ice  in  her 
bosom.  All  the  dread,  the  nameless  fears  of  the  past  weeks 
rushed  back  upon  her.  With  an  effort  she  broke  the  seal, 
and  there  traced  in  unsteady  characters  which  showed  how 
the  hand  that  held  the  pen  trembled,  she  read  : 
ESTHER : 

Wife,  I  dare  not  call  you,  for  when  you  have  read  these  lines  you 
will  count  me  your  husband  no  longer.  I  have  been  a  slave  for  years, 
this  you  know,  but  you  cannot  know  the  strength  of  my  bonds  or  the 
depths  of  my  degradation.  In  my  blindness  I  took  upon  myself  oaths 
— oh,  such  fearful  ones — in  that  accursed  Endowment  House,  and  when 
my  eyes  were  opened  I  was  bound  hand  and  foot  for  I  was  already  ^ 
a  criminal.  My  masters  made  me  share  in  their  blood  guiltiness. 

Guiltiness,  knowing  that   afterwards  T    could  not  rebel  if  I    would. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  271 

Esther,  I  have  lived  by  your  side  year  after  year.knowing  myself 
unworthy  to  breathe  the  same  air  with  you.  My  very  presence  was 
contamination,  I  ought  to  of  left  you  long  ago.  Now, in  obedience  to  those 
whose  command  I  imbrued  my  hands  in  blood,  I  am  about  to  commit 
another  crime,  one  that  will  separate  us  for  ever.  I  am  to  be  sealed  to  one 
chosen  for  me  by  those  who  hold  me,  body  and  soul,  in  their  hands.  I  have 
only  seen  the  girl  once.  She  is  a  timid  creature  who  accepts  the  fate 
forced  upon  her  as  I  do, — because  she  dares  not  rebel.  *  * 

I  have  done  what   I  could  to  spare  you   painful   meetings.  My  per 
sonal  effects  have  all  been  removed   to  the    farm  I  have  bought.     I 
shall  live  there.     Your  threshold  I  will  never  cross  without  your  per 
mission  and  that  I  dare    not  hope  for.  *         *          *         * 

Esther,  My  first,  last,  only  love, — I  do  not  presume  to  ask  forgiveness,  of 
you  or  of  God, —  I  can  do  nothing  but  look  back  from  the  hell  I 
have  made  for  myself  to  the  heaven  that  was  ours  once.  Is  it  possible 
for  you  topityme?  I  do  not  know.  I  deserve  nothing,  I  ask  noth 
ing,  only  —  only,  by  the  memory  of  the  happy  years  we  have  spent 
together,  by  the  memory  of  that  little  far-off"  grave  we  have  both 
watered  with  our  tears,  I  pray  that  my  daughter  may  not  learn  to 
hate  her  wretched  father.  My  sin  against  her  is  not  like  my  sin 
against  you  and  she  may  not  cast  me  out  of  her  heart  altogether.  Some 
times,  perhaps;  you  will  not  refuse  to  let  me  see  her.  This  is  the 
only  hope  I  have,  Do  not  take  it  from  me. 

CHARLES  WALLACE. 

She  stood  as  though  turned  to  stone,  with  the  letter  stil 
in  her  hand.  The  lines  glared  at  her  from  the  page  with 
horrible  distinctness. 

''  I  am  going  mad,  God  pity  me  "  she  said  aloud,  There 
were  footsteps  in  the  hall,  Winnie  was  looking  for  her. 
The  door  was  within  reach  of  her  hand.  She  locked  it  and 
shoved  the  bolt.  Winnie  knocked  gently,  calling: 

"  Let  me  in, mamma.     I've  come  to  help  you.  " 

"  Not  now,  "  she  answered  and  heard  her  daughter  turn 
from  the  door  ;  —  listened  till  her  footsteps  died  away.  As 
yet,  the  hideous  secret  was  her  own.  Winnie  did  not  know. 
Oh,  if  she  might  never  know. 

She  lighted  a  candle  and  held  the  letter  in  the  flame  until 


272  IN  THE  TOILS. 

it  burned  to  ashes.  The  blaze  scorched  her  hand.  She 
smiled  as  she  felt  the  pain.  "  How  good  it  would  be  if  I 
could  turn  to  ashes  as  easily  as  that  paper"  she  said  aloud. 
Then  the  horrible  feeling  that  she  was  going  mad  again 
took  possession  of  her.  "  I  must  not,  Imust  not,  "  she  cried, 
"Winnie;  my  child,  my  lamb,  Imust  live,  I  must  keep 
my  reason  until  you  are  safe.  Oh  God  forsake  me  not 
utterly.  " 

When  did  such  a  cry  ever  go  up  from  human  lips  without 
reaching  the  ear  and  the  heart  of  Infinite  Pity?  It  was 
heard  and  answered  now.  The  mists  began  to  clear  away 
from  her  brain.  She  sat  down  and  began  to  think  calmly. 

The  blow,  so  long  delayed  had  fallen.  She  knew,  all 
along,  that  it  might  come,  and  yet  it  was  as  crushing  and 
paralyzing  as  though  she  had  never  dreamed  of  it.  What 
was  it  that  he  had  written? 

Will  it  be  believed  that  of  all  the  fatal  letter  which  now 
lay  before  her,  a  heap  of  white  ashes,  the  only  line  that  she 
recalled  at  first  was,  "  Esther,  my  first,  last,  only  love.  " 

He  had  loved  her  then  through  all  these  years.  If  she 
had  known,  might  he  not  have  been  saved  by  love  ?  Was 
she  altogether  free  from  blame  ?  Then  like  the  hoarse  cry 
of  a  drowning  man  his  bitter,  despairing  words  rang  in  her 
ears.  "  I  can  only  look  back  from  the  hell  I  have  made  for 
myself  to  the  heaven  that  was  ours  once,  "  and  for  the  time 
pity  for  him  swallowed  up  every  other  feeling.  The  coming 
years  rose  up  before  her  ;  blank,  empty  years  ;  —  years  of 
that  hollow  mockery  that  the  world  calls  living  when  all 
that  makes  our  life  is  gone.  Would  it  not  be  harder  for 
him  than  for  her  ?  Would  he  not  go  about  like  Cain,  crying  : 
"  My  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear  ?  " 

Winnie  knocked  at  the  door  again. 

She  could  not  see  her  yet ;  could  not  tell  her  that  she  was 
fatherless  and  her  mother  worse  than  widowed.  Poor  child  ! 


IN    THE  TOILS.  273 

So  young,  so  tender,  so  unused  to  sorrow,  the   blow   would 
kill  her. 

Word  by  word  the  unhappy  father's  prayer  forced  itself 
upon  her  mind  :  "  Do  not  let  my  daughter  hate  me.  "  No, 
she  would  nut. 

''  He  is  still  her  father  though  he  is  not  my  husband,  " 
she  said  half  aloud.  "  Let  that  be  as  though  I  had  happily 
died  last  week.  Winnie  shall  not  hate  her  father.  " 

"  Once  more  she  heard  her  daughter's  voice  calling  in 
pleading  tones,  "  Mamma,  dear  mamma,  let  me  in.  You 
looked  so  tired  on  the  way  I  fear  you  are  sick." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  dear,  "  and  with  the  quick  instinct  of 
love, — was  it  love  for  the  father  or  daughter,  or  both  ? — she 
extinguished  the  candle,  brushed  the  ashes  of  the  burned 
letter  carefully  into  the  grate,  removed  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  and  darkened  the  room  by  dropping  the  blind  before 
she  opened  the  door. 

"  What  is  the  matter  mamma  ?  Everything  is  out  of  place 
said  Winnie  looking  around.  "  Surely  you  have  not  been 
trying  to  put  the  room  to  rights  yourself  when  you  are  so 
tired?  " 

"  No,  love.  The  room  will  do  well  enough  until  morning. 
I  am  tired  as  you  say,  and  if  you  will  bring  me  a  cup  of  tea 
I  think  I  will  lie  down.  " 

"  Let  me  help  you  undress  first." 

"  No,  I  would  rather  have  you  make  the  tea.  You  know 
I  always  like  it  best  when  you  make  it  yourself.  " 

"  Very  well  mamma,  but  may'nt  I  bring  you  something  to 
eat.  " 

"  Yes  dear,  a  little  toast,  "  and  Winnie  turned  and  went 
out  with  the  light,  quick  step  that  the  fond  mother  loved  to 
watch  and  listen  for,  while  Esther,  glad  of  the  few  minutes 
delay  as  a  condemned  criminal  of  a  reprieve,  bathed  her 
pallid  face,  brushed  back  her  hair,  changed  her  traveling 


274  IN  THE  TOILS. 

dress  for  a  wrapper  and  seated  herself  in  an  easy  chair  in 
the  darkest  corner  of  the  room.  How  she  dreaded  the 
questioning  looks  of  those  bright  young  eyes.  How  she 
feared  that  she  should  betray  herself!  For  Winnie  must  not 
know  to-night.  Oh,  no.  Let  her  sleep  in  peace  one  night 
more,  ignorant  of  the  blight  that  had  fallen  upon  their  lives. 
She  had  scarcely  seated  herself  when  Winnie  entered,  bring 
ing  a  tray  spread  with  the  whitest  damask  and  holding  the 
tea-service  of  dainty  china  brought  from  their  old  home. 
"  Now  you  dear,  tired  mamma,  "  she  said  gaily,  "  You  can 
not  help  eating  and  drinking,  I  have  made  everything  so 
nice.  Here  is  the  toast,  golden  brown,  ju'st  the  shade  you 
like,  and  here  is  some  of  the  jelly  I  made  myself  in  the 
summer,  and  the  tea  —  oh,  I  know  you  will  say  that  is 
superb." 

Esther  smiled  faintly.     Like  poor  Marian  Earle,  through 
all  these  sorrowful  years  she  had 

Kept  a  sort  of  smile  in  sight 
To  please  the  child,  like  a  flower  in  a  cup. 

Winnie  drew  a  light-stand  beside  the  chair,  placed  the  tray 
on  it  and  was  about  to  raise  the  curtain  when  her  mother 
stopped  her.  "  Let  it  be  dear,  "  she  said,  "  that  west  win 
dow  makes  the  room  too  light  for  sleeping  and  I  am  going 
to  lie  down  as  soon  as  I  drink  my  tea.  "  Winnie  obeyed 
and  seated  herself  at  her  mother's  feet,  declining  to  share 
the  cup  of  tea  and  plate  of  toast  upon  the  plea  that  she  did 
not  wish  to  spoil  her  appetite  for  the  good  supper  Aunt 
Eunice  was  getting  up.  She  would  not  leave  the  room 
until  she  saw  her  mother  safe  in  bed,  and  not  then  until  she 
had  exacted  a  promise  from  her  not  to  fasten  the  door. 
"  I'm  coming  in  again  after  supper,  "  she  said,  laughing  and 
looking  back  as  she  went  out  with  the  tray,  "  so  make  the 
most  of  your  time  till  then." — When  the  door  closed  behind 
her  retreating  figure,  the  mother's  forced  self-control  gave 


IN  THE  TOILS.  275 

way.  No  tears  moistened  her  burning  lids,  but  dry  shiver 
ing  sobs  convulsed  her  whole  frame.  She  clenched  her 
hands  until  the  nails  cut  into  the  flesh.  How  long  she  lay 
there  battling  with  hysterical  spasms,  she  did  not  know,  but 
the  moment  she  heard  Winnie's  returning  footstep  she  was 
recalled  to  the  necessity  of  mastering  herself.  With  a 
powerful  effort  she  composed  her  features,  closed  her  eyes, 
and  lay  ^o  quiet,  that  Winnie,  coming  softly  to  the  bedside, 
thought  her  sleeping  and  so  reported  to  Aunt  Eunice  at  the 
door.  Esther  listened  to  their  whispered  conference,  heard 
them  plan  to  make  themselves  beds  in  the  parlor,  within 
call,  in  case  she  wanted  anything,  and  heard  the  door  close 
finally  with  the  hope  of  being  left  alone  till  morning. 

The  history  of  that  night  will  never  be  written.  The 
stricken  heart,  alone  with  God,  fought  the  terrible  battle  with 
self  and  suffering  through  which  so  many  hundreds  were 
passing  all  around  her,  but  unlike  many  others,  came  off 
victorious.  The  morning  light  found  her  prostrate  in  body 
but  calm  in  spirit.  Too  weak  to  rise  from  her  bed,  she  felt 
in  the  depths  of  her  soul  the  peace  of  God.  Bereft  of 
earthly  love  and  earthly  hope,  her  whole  heart  was  drawn 
above.  She  seemed  again  to  hear  her  dead  mother's  voice 
singing  softly: 

"  I  feel  Thee  good; — feel  naught  beside.  " 

Winnie  came  to  her  bedside  at  sunrise.  She  had  been 
there  once  or  twice  during  the  night  but  thinking  that  her 
mother  slept  well  had  left  her  to  her  rest. 

"You  feel  well  this  morning  mother  dear."  she  said 
cheerfully. 

"  Quite   well,  my  daughter  but  not  very  strong.  I  think 
I  will  not  get  up  quite  yet.  "  . 

"  That  is  right,  lie  still  and  I  will  make  your  break 
fast." 

Noon  came  and  still  she  did  not  feel  quite  strong  enough 


276  IN  THE  TOILS. 

to  rise.  Thus  a  couple  of  days  passed.  Winnie  wondered 
a  little  at  her  father's  absence,  but  would  not  speak  to  her 
mother  about  it.  Aunt  Eunice  was  anxious  and  worried  at 
heart,  but  kept  a  cheerful  face.  On  the  third  morning 
Winnie  was  standing  at  the  gate  when  two  of  their  neigh 
bor's  daughters  passed.  They  were  bold,  forward  girls, 
who  regarded  Winnie's  beauty  and  her  elegant  dress  in  the 
light  of  personal  affronts  which  they  were  bound  to  resent. 
They  stopped  now  on  seeing  her  at  the  gate,  and  bade  her 
good  morning.  She  answered  them  civilly,  and  Maria,  the 
elder  girl,  asked,  "  Is  your  pa  home  ?  " 

"  He  is  not,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"  S'pose  he's  staying  out  to  the  farm  this  week  with  his 
other  wife." 


"  Why,  with  his  second,  that  was  Lizzie  Simmons.  We 
hadn't  seen  her  around,  but  we  s'posed  your  pa  'ud  bring 
her  here  sometimes.  We  knew  Lizzie.  She  used  to  live  in 
our  ward." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  Winnie  said,  with  dignity, 
turning  from  them  and  walking  back  to  the  house.  Poor 
child  !  Her  heart  was  nearly  bursting.  The  girl's  coarse 
words  were  spoken  just  in  time  to  give  shape  to  the  fears 
awakened  by  her  mother's  sickness  and  her  father's  pro 
longed  absence.  Now  the  dreadful  fear  that  what  was  said 
might  be  true,  kept  her  from  her  mother's  room  and  sent  her 
to  the  kitchen  instead.  Aunt  Eunice  listened  to  her  story 
and  shook  her  head  sorrowfully.  "  Poor  lamb  !  So  does 
yer  no  'count  white  trash  'suit  yer  'cause  yer  auntie  wa'ant 
thar.  I  don't  go  for  to  say  as  yer  pa  haint  acted  very  'sterious 
an'  I'se  feared  some  sech  story  has  got  to  yer  ma  in  some 
way,  though  how  I  doesn't  know,  but  dare's  sumfin  I  kin 
do,  dat  Missis  Mead  knows  whar  yer  pa  is  I'll  be  boun'  an' 
I'se  gwine  straight  to  make  her  tell.  " 


IN  THE  TOILS.  277 

"Oh,  no,  Auntie,"  Winnie  began,  but  Aunt  Eunice  was 
already  half-way  across  the  lot,  and  a  minute  afterwards  she 
entered  Mrs  Mead's  kitchen  door.  The  good  woman  was 
rolling  out  pie-crust,  but  stopped  to  bid  her  caller  good 
morning. 

"Mornin'," 

Aunt  Eunice  answered  shortly,  "  I'se  come  hyar  to  ax 
a  question  an'  I  wants  a  straight  answer.  Whar's  Massa 
Wallace  ?  " 

Sister  Mead  turned  crimson  and  dropped  her  rolling-pin. 

"Brother  Wallace?   Why   he— he's  at    the    farm." 

"  Wat's  he  doin'  dar  when  his  place  is  hyar  an'  his  own 
wife  dunno,  no  more'n  de  dead  whar  he  be?" 

"  Why,  Business," 

"Don't  you  go  to  tell  bout  bizness.  You  knows  better, 
Hyar's  my  missis  sick  an'  low-lived  white  trash  'suiting 
Miss  Winnie  'bout  her  pa's  second  wife.  Now  you  knows 
de  troof  an'  you's  got  to  tell  it." 

Aunt  Eunice's  portly  figure  blocked  up  the  door  way 
and  her  hand  was  raised  threateningly.  Poor  Sister  Mead 
gasped,  looked  about  helplessly  as  though  seeking  a  way  of 
escape  and  finally  answered  desperately; 

"  Brother  Wallace  was  sealed  to  Liza  Simmons  the  day 
after  you  left.  I  helped  him  pack  his  things  to  take  to  'the 
farm.  He  didn't  give  me  any  word  for  you,  and  I  could'nt 
tell  any  more  if  you  was  to  kill  me." 

Aunt  Eunice  dropped  her  raised  arm  and  walked  away 
without  a  word.  It  was  omy  the  confirmation  of  her  fears? 
but  the  truth,  put  into  plain  words,  struck  her  like  a  thun 
derbolt.  She  could  not  face  her  mistress  or  Winnie,  so  she 
walked  to  the  barn  to  gain  a  little  tune,  and  there  met  Jem» 
who  had  heard  the  nevvs  from  another  quarter  and  was  com 
ing  to  tell  her.  She  answered  nim  roug.ily  as  was  her  wont 
wnen  troubled,  and  uuiied  bac.;  to  tiic  luui.-.e.  Winnie  m.t 


278  IN  THE  TOILS. 

her  in  the  door-way.  "Oh  Auntie,"  she  cried,  "  it  is  true. 
I  know  by  your  face  that  it  is.  Poor  mamma  !  She  will  die." 

"  Hush  chile,  yer  ma  '11  hear  ye.  An'  don't  you  go  to  her 
with  no  such  scart  look." 

"  I  will  not,  Auntie.  I  will  be  quiet,  but  oh  tell  me  where 
is  papa  ?" 

"  What  fur  you  call  him  dat  ?  What's  he  now  to  you  or 
yer  poor  ma  "?  Then  noticing  poor  Winnie's  white  face  and 
quivering  lip,  she  added  in  a  softer  tone,  "  Pore  lamb !  yer 
Auntie  did'nt  mean  to  be  cross.  Better  go  up  to  yer  own 
room  an'  pray  de  Good  Lord  fur  help  in  time  ob  trouble. 
Go,  honey.  He'sde  only  fren'  we 's  got  now."  True,  Win 
nie  felt  it  in  the  depths  of  her  sorrowful  young  heart,  and 
turned  away  to  hide  her  trouble  from  all  other  eyes,  even 
the  most  kindly. 

An  hour  later,  she  came  down  stairs,  fearing  her  mother 
might  miss  her,  and  call  for  her.  She  had  tried  to  wash  away 
the  traces  of  tears  from  her  face  and  came  into  her  mother's 
room  hoping  she  would  notice  nothing,  but  it  is  so  hard  for 
the  young  to  dissemble  ; — so  hard  for  them  to  carry  a 
bright  face  above  an  aching  heart. 

The  quick  eye  of  maternal  love  saw  at  once  the  white 
cheeks  and  swollen  eyelids  and  the  mother's  ear  detected 
the  quiver  in  the  voice  that  tried  to  bid  her  a  cheerful  good 
morning.  "What  is  wrong  my  darling?"  she  asked. 

The  tender  question  brought  an  uncontrollable  burst  of 
tears.  "Oh  mamma,"  she  sobbed,  "you  know  as  well  as 
I."  The  moment  the  words  were  uttered  she  would  have 
given  anything  to  recall  them,  but  it  was  too  late.  The 
mother's  pale  face  grew  a  shade  whiter,  and  for  the  fir^t 
time  in  her  life,  Winnie  saw  her  faint  quite  away.  The 
fright  and  distress  this  caused  made  her  forget  the  other 
trouble  entirely  for  the  time.  There  were  plenty  of  restora 
tives  at  hand,  and  shrinking  instinctively  from  calling  any 


IN  THE  TOILS.  279 

one  to  witness  a  sorrow  she  felt  they  must  both  henceforth 
hide,  the  young  girl  did  her  best  to  bring  her  mother  back 
to  consciousness  unaided.  In  a  little  while  she  had  the 
happiness  of  seeing  her  open  her  eyes.  "  Mother  darling 
are  you  better  ?  Oh  I  am  so  glad,"  she  cried  with  the  quick 
revulsion  of  feeling  that  of  which  only  youth  is  capable.  "I  am 
better,  love.  Lock  the  door  and  sit  down  by  me." 

When  Winnie  was  seated,  her  mother,  holding  fast  the 
strong,  young  hand,  as  though  it  was  her  only  stay  in  life,  said 
slowly : 

"My  daughter,  a  great  sorrow  has  a  fallen  on  us,  but  it 
need  not  crush  us,  for  '  The  Eternal  God  is  our  refuge,  and 
underneath  us  are  the  Everlasting  Arms.'  Life  is  short,  and 
in  a  little  while  this  great  grief  will  be  to  me  as  though  it 
had  never  been.  You  are  young  and  God  is  good.  He 
will  see  to  it  that  this  trouble  does  not  follow  you  through 
life.  After  to-day  we  will  never  speak  of  it  except  to  Him. 
All  I  wish  to  say  about  it  now  is,  do  not  think  hardly  of  your 
father.  He  is  in  the  power  of  wicked  men,  and  they  com 
pel  him  to  do  as  they  wish.  He  loves  you  the  same  as  ever, 
and  his  only  hope  in  life  is  that  you  will  not  turn  against: 
him.  It  would  add  tenfold  to  my  i  rouble  if  I  thought  you 
felt  bitterly  toward  him.  Promise  me  now  that  you  will 
never  say  a  word  to  wound  him." 

Winnie  bent    her  head.     She  could  not  trust  her  voice- 

"Now,  love,  go  to  your  own  room.     I  want  to  be  alone." 

In  the  hall  outside,  Winnie  met  Aunt  Eunice  "Massa 
Wallace  is  at  de  gate,"  she  said  frowning  darkly.  "  Will  you 
go  tell  him  he  does'nt  b'long  hyar,  or  mus'  I  ?" 

"Neither  of  us,  Auntie,"  Winnie  said  firmly.  "My 
mother  does  not  wish  any  such  word  said." 

"  You  go  'long  an'  meet  him  den.  I  washes  my  han's  ob 
all  ob  it,"  and  Aunt  Eunice  quickened  her  steps  toward 
the  kitchen  and  shut  the  door  violently. 


280  IN  THE  TOILS. 

"  Can't  sp'ose  fur  de  life  ob  me  what's  come  ober  Miss 
Esther,"  she  muttered,  "  no  more  sperrit  dan  a  pet  kitten. 
Wish't  ole  Massa  Pryor  wor  alibe.  Ole  Massa  'ud  make  him 
stan'  roun'.  Should'nt  wonder  ef  he'd  gib  him  lead  fur 
breakfus',  but  deary  me.  Dere's  nobody  hyar  to  tuk  Mis's 
Esther's  part." 

Winnie,  meantime,  walked  rapidly  to  the  gate,  fearful  that 
her  courage  would  fail.  Was  it  her  father  who  stood  there? 
She  would  not  have  known  him  except  for  the  familiar  dress^ 
His  face  was  haggard  and  colorless,  his  cheeks  sunken,  and 
his  eyes  downcast.  "Good  morning  papa,"  she  said,  hold 
ing  out  her  hand.  She  had  conquered  herself  so  far  that 
only  a  little  tremor  in  her  voice  showed  what  she  had  pass 
ed  through. 

"  Good  morning,  Winnie.  I  have  heard  that  your  mother 
is  sick.  Will  you  tell  me  how  she  is  ?" 

"  Better,  I  think.     Will  you  come  in  ?" 

The  blood  rushed  into  his  pale  face.  "Does  your  mother 
wish  it  ?" — he  asked. 

"  She  does  not  know  you  are  here  but  I  will  tell  her.  Come 
with  me." 

"  No,  Winnie,"  he  said  sadly.  "  I  have  no  right  to  come 
one  step  farther  unless  your  mother  sends  for  me." 

Without  another  word,  Winnie  turned  and  hurried  into 
the  house.  It  seemed  to  the  wretched  man  standing  at 
the  gate  that  she  was  gone  a  long  time,  but  in  reality  it 
was  not  more  than  five  minutes  before  she  returned,  and 
saying  only  :  "  Come  !  mamma  wishes  to  see  you,"  led  the  way 
into  the  house  and  to  her  mother's  room  and  left  him  there 
What  words  were  spoken  in  that  m^st  painful  meeting  it  is 
not  for  us  to  record.  We  have  to  do  only  with  what  Wal 
lace  said  as  he  took  his  leave  : 

"  It  will  be  safer  for  you  and  Winnie,  safer  for  the  whole 
household  if  I  am  sometimes  seen  to  come  here,  and  perhaps 


IN  THE  TOILS.  281 

foi  Winnie's  sake  we  both  ought  to  forget  our  own  feelings  so 
far.  If  it  is  not  asking  too  much  I  would  beg  leave  dine  here 
sometimes  when  in  town.  It  will  cost  you  much  pain,  I 
knov/ ; — I  have  no  right  to  speak  of  my  own  feelings, — but 
for  the  sake  of  one  dear  to  both  of  us,  will  you  consent 
to  this?" 

"  For  the  child's  sake."  As  we  have  said  before,  this  is 
the  key  to  much  which  is  otherwise  incomprehensible  in 
Utah ; —  the  only  explanation  of  what  seems  voluntary 
slavery  and  degradation  on  the  part  of  hundreds  of  women 
born  to  a  better  life.  For  the  sake  of  Winnie's  safety  father 
and  mother  endured  what  was  equal  torture  to  both,  and 
on  every  alternate  Sabbath,  Wallace  rode  into  town  and 
dined  with  his  family,  and  Mormon  gossips  spoke  of  Mrs. 
Wallace  as  "  reconciled"  to  her  husband's  second  marriage. 
Happily  for  her  this  gossip  never  reached  her  ears.  Winnie 
heard  a  word  or  two,  sometimes,  but  wisely  kept  silence. 


PART  II.— CHAPTER  vm. 

THE    ABDUCTION    OF      WINNIE. — SUSPENSE. GENERAL     CON- 

NOR'S    AID. — THE    RESCUE. — THE    RETURN. AFTER    MANY 

DAYS. 

A  little  more  than  six  months  after  the  events  recorded  in 
our  last  chapter,  Wallace  on  taking  his  leave  of  the  family 
after  one  of  his  Sunday  visits  left  a  folded  paper  in  his  wife's 
hand.  As  soon  as  she  was  alone  she  opened  it  and  read: 

"  \Vatch  Winnie  carefully.  Don't  let  her  go  outside  the  gate  alone_ 
Don't  leave  her  at  home  alone  for  an  hour.  A  danger  that  I  cannot 
explain  threatens  her,  and  I,  alas,  cannot  protect  her.  " 

Here  was  a  new  and  terrible  anxiety.  Winnie  threatened 
with  a  mysterious  calamity,  which  the  utmost  watchfulness 
might  fail  to  avert.  Months  before,  Esther  had  left  her 
own  room  below  stairs  to  share  Winnie's  bed.  Jem  and 
Aunt  Eunice  slept  on  the  first  floor,  and  a  powerful  St.  Bern 
ard  dog,  the  strongest  ally  of  the  unprotected  family,  always 
had  his  quarters  for  the  night  on  the  rug  outside  Winnie's 
door.  Mother  and  daughter  went  out  together  in  the  day 
time,  taking  the  dog  with  them.  After  dark  none  of  the 
family  except  Jem  ever  left  the  house. 

The  reader  may  again  need  to  be  reminded  that  we  are 
writing  history,  not  fiction.  We  are  portraying  one  instance 
among  hundreds  of  the  Reign  of  Terror  which  endured  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century  under  the  shadow  of  the  American  flag 
and  which  is  not  altogether  abolished  in  the  Year  of  Grace, 
One  Thousand  Eight  Hundred  and  Seventy-Nine. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  283 

To  return  to  our  story.  About  ten  days  after  Mrs.  Wal 
lace  received  the  warning  mentioned  above,  she  was  sent  for 
one  afternoon  to  see  a  child  sick  with  the  scarlet  fever. 
The  child's  mother  was  a  poor  widow  largely  indebted  al 
ready  to  Esther's  charity,  and  she  thought  nothing  of  being 
sent  for  by  her  in  this  fresh  trouble;  so  putting  on  her  bonnet 
hastily  and  telling  Winnie  she  would  be  back  in  a  few  min 
utes,  she  went  out  leaving  Aunt  Eunice  in  charge  of  the 
house.  It  was  baking  day,  and  the  latter  was  unusually  busy 
in  the  kitchen,  but  mindful  of  her  charge  she  called  to  Winnie 
who  was  in  the  front  yard. 

"Better  go  in  the  house,  honey." 

"In  a  minute  Auntie,  I  just  want  to  get  a  few  of  these 
early  violets." 

As  Winnie  stooped  to  gather  the  flowers  a  light  canvas- 
covered  spring  wagon  drove  up  and  a  young  man  sprang  out. 
He  carried  a  shawl  hanging  on  his  arm  and  held  a  letter  in 
his  hand.  "Does  Mrs.  Wallace  live  here?"  he  asked.  "She 
does,"  was  the  answer.  "Well,  I  have  a  letter  for  her," 
and  he  advanced  a  step  or  two  up  the  walk  leaving  the  gate 
open  behind  him.  Winnie  went  toward  him  and  held  out 
her  hand  for  the  letter  but  as  she  was  in  the  act  of  taking  it 
from  him,  the  shawl  was  thrown  over  her  head,  and  in  less 
time  than  it  takes  to  record  it,  she  was  lifted  from  her  feet, 
carried  through  the  gate  and  forced  into  the  wagon  with  the 
help  of  someone  inside.  She  uttered  a  single  half-stifled 
cry  as  the  shawl  was  thrown  over  her.  That  cry  brought 
Aunt  Eunice  from  the  house  just  in  time  to  see  her  lifted 
into  the  wagon.  The  sight  paralyzed  her  for  one  moment 
The  next,  with  a  wild  shriek  for  help,  she  darted  after  the 
wagon  which  was  already  driving  away  at  a  furious  speed. 

Aunt  Eunice  was  past  sixty,  but  love  gave  wings  to  her  feet, 
and  she  ran  for  more  than  a  block  so  fast  as  to  keep  the  wagon 
in  sight.  When  it  disappeared  she  sank  down  helplessly  and 


284  IN  THE  TOILS. 

prayed:  "Dear  Lord  Good  Lord,  let  me  die  now,  I'se  done 
let  dat  lamb  be  carried  off  by  de  wolves  right  before  dese  eyes. 
I  can't  go  back  to  Miss  Esther  no  more.  How  kin  I  stan' 
up  an'  hear  her  ax'  whar's  my  chile.'  You  knows  Lord  I 
can't  do  dat."  Then  a  vision  ofher  mistress  perhaps  exposed 
to  the  same  fate,  rose  up  before  her,  and  she  hastened 
back  to  the  empty  house  almost  expecting  to  see  her  "Miss 
Esther"  struggling  in  the  hands  of  kidnappers. 

The  gate  and  the  house  were  open  as  she  had  left  them 
but  in  the  neighboring  houses  every  door  and  window  was 
closed.  No  one  looked  out;  no  notice  seemed  to  have  been 
taken  of  what  had  happened. 

The  counsel  of  the  Priesthood,  "mind  your  own  business 
and  ask  no  questions"  was  well  obeyed  in  Zion. 

Aunt  Eunice  sat  down  ou  the  steps  of  the  porch, 
her  ebony  face  actually  gray  with  anguish  and  fear. 
She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  moaning:  "  My  lamb, 
My  lamb.  Oh  ef  yer  pore  ole  Auntie  could  only  a'  died 
to  sabe  you.  Ef  de  good  Lord  would  only  let  me  die  now 
an'  bring  you  back.  " 

In  the  midst  of  her  lamentations  Esther  came  up 
the  walk  with  hurried  steps.  "  Auntie  "  she  cried  as 
soon  as  she  saw  her.  "Mrs.  Boyd  did  not  send  for 
me.  There  is  something  wron^.  Where  is  Winnie?  " 
Aunt  Eunice  fell  on  the  ground  and  grovelled  at  her  feet. 

"Don't  ax  me,  Miss  Esther,  don't  look  at  me  so,  I  couldn't 
sabe  her.  Dey  carried  her  off  right  before  dese  eyes.  '' 

"  They  !  Who  ?     Speak  quickly  !  " 

I  don't  know  honey.  Thar  was  a  wagon  an'  two  men.  You 
hadn't  been  gone  a  minnit  when  I  called  her  to  come  inter 
de  house.  She  said  yes,  an  I  went  back  in  de  kitchen.  Den 
I  heerd  a  kind  ob  cry  an'  run  out,  an'  dere  was  a  wagon  an 
two  men  a  liftin'  her  in.  I  screeched  fur  help  an'  run  after  de 


IN  THE  TOILS.  285 

waggin  till  it  wor  out  ob  sight.  Oh,  Miss  Esther,  honey 
you  doesn't  blame  me?" 

"  No,  get  up.  Some  one  must  go  for  her  father  at  once. 
Where  is  Jem  ?  " 

"Ain't  back  from  de  blacksmith's  yet.  No,  dere  he  comes 
now,"  as  Jem  appeared  at  the  side  gate,  riding  one  horse 
and  leading  the  other.  His  mistress  called  him  to  her. 

"Jem,  take  the  horse  that  is  saddled  and  ride  at  once 
to  the  farm.  Tell  Mr.  Wallace  that  Winnie  is  gone. 
Carried  off.  Dont  speak," — as  Jem  endeavored  to  express 
his  astonishment,  —  •  "and  don't  stop  at  the  farm.  Go  from 
there  to  Camp  Douglass.  Tell  General  Connor  I  wish  to 
see  him  at  ouce  on  important  business."* 

Jem  waited  for  no  second  bidding.  Leaving  the  other 
horse  loose  in  the  yard,  he  sprang  into  the  saddle  and  was 
out  of  sight. 

The  two  women  in  the  solitary  house,  left  to  the  watching 
and  waiting  that  falls  to  woman's  lot  through  hours 
of  intolerable  anguish  and  suspense,  could  do  nothing  but 
pray  that  help  might  come  quickly. 

The  sun  was  but  two  hours  high  in  the  west  when  Jem 
started.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Mrs.  Wallace 
left  the  house  and  though  she  was  not  gone  half  an  hour 
that  delay  and  the  few  minutes  occupied  in  giving  Jem  his 
instructions  allowed  the  kidnappers  sufficient  start  to  make 
it  impossible  to  overtake  them  unless  they  stopped  some 
where  during  the  night,  and  of  course  their  route  could 
only  be  conjectured. 

The  stars  were  beginning  to  show  themselves  when  Jem 
stopped  his  hard  -  ridden  horse  at  the  gate  and  dismounted. 

With  a'caution  born  of  his    experiences   in   the    past    he 

*  Out  incident  of  the  past  few  j  ears  which  should  have  been  noted  elsewhere 
was  the  establishment  of  a  military  post  near  Salt  Lake.  The  small  body 
oifcdural  trunks  quartered  there  dul  their  best  to  afford  protection  to  noii- 
Mormons  but  official  red  tape,  made  it  difficult  for  them  to  afford  assis 
tance  in  must  caaes. 


286  IN  THE  TOILS. 

led  his  horse  to  the  stable  and  went  quietly  to  the  back 
door  as  though  returning  from  ordinary  business.  The  two 
anxious  watchers  inside  met  him  at  the  same  moment  and 
he  answered  their  unspoken  question  in  a  whisper. 

"  Mr.  Wallace  is  away.  Went  North  five  days  ago.  Will 
be  back  the  day  after  to-morrow.  General  Connor  will  be 
here  in  an  hour.  But  I  have  better  news.  I  met  Harris 
at  the  cross-roads  and  he'gave  me  this.  "  He  handed  his 
mistress  a  crumpled  note,  written  in  pencil.  She  unfolded 
it  and  read: 

MRS.  WALLACE: 

I  know  where  your  daughter  is,  No  harm  will  come  to  her  for  the 
present.  To-morrow  night  at  midnight  let  Jem  meet  me  at  the  mouth 
of  Big  Cottonwood  Caynon.  He  must  come  alone  and  ride  a  horse 
that  will  carry  double.  Be  up  and  waiting  at  home,  but  don't  show 
a  light  and  if  God  helps  me,  before  sunrise  the  next  morning  your 
daughter  shall  be  with  you. 

HARRIS. 

"  You  say  Harris  gave  this  to    you  yourself?"    she    asked 

"Yes.  He  was  coming  here  when  I  met  him.  He  tore 
a  leaf  from  his  pocket-book  and  wrote  this,  sitting  in  his 
saddle." 

"  We  can  trust  Harris  and  you,  too,  Jem." 

"  Mrs.  Wallace,  you  saved  my  life,  and  I  would  give  it 
back  to-night  to  help  you.  " 

"I  know  it.  " 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  loud  and  startling  ring  at 
the  front  door  "  General  Connor  I  think "  said  Jem 
"  but  I'll  make  sure  before  unlocking.  " 

A  look  through  an  aperture  in  the  hall  shutters  dispelled 
all  doubt,  and  a  minute  afterwards  Jem  ushered  a  gentleman 
into  the  parlor  whose  uniform  was  the  most  welcome  sight 
which  had  greeted  that  household  for  many  a  day,  for  it 
premised  protection  in  the  name  of  the  great  government 
whose  badge  of  service  it  was. 


IN  THE  TOILS.  287 

"  I  have  the  pleasure  of  addressing  Mrs.  Wallace  ?  "  he 
said  rising  and  bowing. 

"  Yes  General  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  sending  for  you 
because  we  are  in  great  trouble  and'need  help.  " 

"  I  am  at  your  service  Madam,  and  I  have  not  come 
alone.  I  have  half-a-dozen  men  at  the  gate,  all  well  armed. 
Will  you  tell  me  just  what  has  happened  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wallace  detailed  the  events  of  the  afternoon  just  as 
rapidly  as  possible,  and  ended  by  giving  him  the  note  just 
received. 

He  scanned  it  attentively. 

"  You  know  the  writer  of  this  ?  "  he  said  at  length. 

"  Yes. ' 

"  Can  you  trust  him  ?  " 

"  Implicitly.  " 

"  Well,  then  I  think  we  see  light  ahead.  Do  your  sus 
picions  point  to  any  one  person  as  the  author  of  this  out 
rage?  " 

"  Yes.  I  more  than  suspect,  I  am  almost  certain  that  a 
man  named  Harwood,  a  Mormon  elder,  who  has  been  our 
evil  genius  for  ten  years  past  is  the  principal  actor  ;  at  least 
he  is  the  author  of  it.  " 

"  I  know  the  fellow.  A  villian  by  nature  and  a  brigand 
by  profession.  I  would  like  to  get  just  one  good  shot  at 
him.  " 

Mrs.  Wallace  smiled  faintly  at  the  thought  of  the  cautious 
Harwood,  whose  valor  consisted  in  always  sending  others 
to  the  front,  exposing  himself  to  Federal  bullets,  and  the 
General  continued  : 

"  This  Harris  most  probably  knows  the  country 
better  than  we  do,  and  has  a  far  greater  advantage 
in  being  acquainted  with  the  place  to  which  your  daught 
er  has  been  taken,  so  it  may  be  best  to  leave  the  res 
cue  altogether  to  him;  still  I  think  I  will  contrive  som  • 


288  IN  THE  TOILS. 

errand  for  a  dozen  of  my  men  that  will  oblige  them  to  pass 
the  mouth  of  the  canyon  near  the  hour  named.  It  will  do 
no  harm  to  have  them  within  call  and  I  will  instruct  your 
man  how  to  summon  them  if  he  needs  help.  " 

"  I  hope  that  no  such  necessity  will  occur,  but  I  shall  be 
relieved  of  much  anxiety  if  I  know  that  help  is  near.  Our 
lives  here,  as  you  must  know,  are  passed  in  a  state  of  con 
tinual  apprehension.  " 

"  I  do  know,  and  I  think,  Mrs.  Wallace,  that  after 
the  occurences  of  today,  you  are  no  longer  even  par 
tially  safe  here.  My  advice,  which  I  hope  you  will  accept, 
is  thatyou  remove  at  once  with  your  family  to  Camp  Douglass. 
Quite  a  large  number  of  families  in  similar  circumstances 
have  already  taken  refuge  there  and  a  number  of  our 
officers  have  their  wives  with  them.  We  will  give  you  the 
best  quarters  at  our  disposal,  with  room  for  your  servants 
and  storage  for  your  goods.  " 

"  Your  offer  is  a  kind  one,  and  if  my  daughter  is  restored  to 
me  I  shall  accept  it  at  once,  for  I  shall  not  feel  that  we  are 
safe  for  an  hour  here.  " 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  your  decision.  Can  I  offer  you 
any  assistance  in  removing  your  effects  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think  we  shall  need  any.  We  will  only  take  such 
things  as  we  are  obliged  to.  The  house  and  its  contents 
will  be  safe  enough  in  care  of  my  tenant.  I  am  not  troubled 
about  that  nor  about  anything  except  my  child.  If  I  allow 
my  mind  to  dwell  upon  her  situation  to-night  I  shall  be  in 
capable  of  doing  anything  to  help  her.  " 

"  Try  to  think  hopefully  of  her.  You  have  the  assurance 
of  one  who  seems  to  know,  that  no  present  harm  will  come 
to  her,  and  in  a  little  more  than  twenty-four  hours  she 
will  be  under  your  own  roof.  " 

"  I  believe  so,  for  I  trust  in  God.  " 

The  General  bowed  his  head.     "  Madam,   I  honor   and 


IN  THE  TOILS.  289 

at  the  same  time  envy  your  faith.  Can  I  be  of  any  farther 
service  to-night.  " 

"  I  think  not.  We  will  not  be  molested  at  present;  at 
least  I  apprehend  nothing  and  if  Winnie  is  saved,  we  will 
remove  to  camp  at  an  early  hour  the  next  morning,  " 

With  renewed  offers  of  service  the  General  took-his  leave, 
and  the  household  retired,  the  mother  to  spend  the  night  in 
prayer,  Aunt  Eunice  to  indulge  freely  in  lamentations  and 
self  reproaches,  and  Jem  in  spite  of  his  real  grief  and  anxiety, 
to  find  the  sleep  that  comes  so  easily  to  the  young. 

The  longest  night  will  wear  toward  morning,  the  saddest 
day  must  come  to  a  close,  and  though  the  hours  seemed  end 
less  they  passed  one  by  one  until  at  length  the  clock  struck 
nine  on  the  evening  of  the  next  day.  This  was  the  time 
agreed  upon  for  Jem  to  start.  Brown  Bess,  the  favorite  of 
her  young  mistress  was  saddled  and  waiting.  They  all 
knew  they  could  depend  upon  her  fleetnessand  intelligence. 

"  If  "  said  Jem,  "  I  should  be  forced  to  get  down  and  stop 
any  one  who  followed  us,  the  mare  would  find  her  way  home 
at  the  top  of  her  speed ;  and  Miss  Winnie  knows  how  to 
ride.  " 

"  I  hope  no  such  thing  will  happen,  Jem.  What  arms  have 
you  ?"  Jem  threw  open  his  coat  and  showed  a  heavy  navy 
revolver  and  a  knife. 

"  I  pray  that  you  may  not  need  to  use  them,  but  if  you  do  ?" 

"  I  won't  waste  powder.  I'll  fire  to  kill,  if  any  man 
tries  to  stop  us." 

Jem  did  not  wait  to  see  how  this  was  received,  but  hur 
ried  out,  sprang  into  the  saddle  and  was  gone. 

The  mouth  of  the  canyon  was  about  twelve  miles  distant. 
He  had  ample  time,  and  rode  slowly,  to  save  the  speed  of  his 
horse  for  the  return.  There  was  no  moon,  and  passing 
clouds  lessened  the  faint  starlight,  but  Jem  knew  every 
inch  of  the  way  and  so  did  Brown  Bess. 


290  IN  THE  TOILS. 

He  had  ridden  about  a  mile  out  of  town  when  he  heard  a 
pattering  sound  on  the  hard  roadway,  and  looking  down  saw 
that  Bruno,  Winnie's  faithful  St.  Bernard,  had  constituted  him 
self  one  of  the  party.  "Hi !  Bruno,  my  boy,  why  did  you  not 
stay  to  take  care  of  them  at  home  ?"  he  said. 

The  dog  answered  by  a  low  whine  and  kept  on  close  be 
side  the  horse. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  you  know  best.  Maybe  we  shall  need 
you  with  us  to-night." 

Jem  always  maintained  stoutly  that  Bruno  knew  more 
than  half  the  men  in  the  Territory,  and  now  he  said  to 
himself  that  if  the  dog  had  not  the  best  of  reasons  for  doing 
so,  he  would  never  have  left  the  house  unguarded  to  follow 
him. 

It  was  near  midnight  before  Jem,  riding  at  the  leisurely 
pace  he  had  adopted,  reached  the  mouth  of  the  canyon. 
The  entrance  to  the  narrow  defile  was  guarded  on  either 
side  by  large  masses  of  rock  that  looked  in  the  dim  light, 
like  castles  and  fortresses.  Behind  one  of  these  Jem  reined 
his  horse  and  waited  for  the  signal  agreed  upon.  Before 
many  minutes  he  heard  it, — a  long  low  whistle  three  times 
repeated.  He  answered  it,  and  almost  directly  ahorse  bear 
ing  two  riders  emerged  from  the  canyon.  Jem,  after  one 
cautious  glance  from  his  hiding  place,  came  out  and  met 
them. 

"  Just  in  time  my  good  fellow,"  said  Harris,  "  Well  for 
all  of  us  that  we  did'nt  have  to  wait  for  you." 

In  less  than  five  minutes  Winnie  was  transferred  to  the 
pillion  behind  Jem's  saddle.  "  Ride  for  your  lives. 
You  will  be  followed,"  Harris  said  as  he  swung  himself  up 
on  his  own  horse. 

Jem  needed  no  urging,  nor  for  that  matter  did  Brown 
Bess.  Her  hoofs  struck  sparks  of  fire  from  the  stony  road- 


IN    THE  TOILS.  291 

bed  as  she  galloped  homeward,  making  no  account  of  the 
added  weight  she  carried.  They  were  already  well  out  cf 
the  shadow  of  the  mountain  and  near  the  point  where  the 
roads  leading  to  the  city  and  to  Camp  Douglass  inter 
sected  each  other,  when  Jem's  quick  ear  detected  a  sound 
T/hich  made  him  lay  his  hands  on  his  weapons. 

They  were  jfollowed,  as  Harris  had  warned  them.  Their 
pursuer  gained  on  them.  By  the  time  they  reached  the 
cross-roads  he  was  in  plain  sight.  "Halt!"  he  called. 

No  answer. 

There  was  a  flash,  a  report,  and  a  bullet  whizzed  past 
their  heads. 

Jem  returned  the  fire  without  slackening  speed. 

Bess  strained  every  nerve  and  still  the  horseman  gained 
on  them. 

"  We  are  lost,"  was  Winnie's  despairing  thought,  when 
help  came  from  an  unexpected  quarter. 

Bruno,  left  a  little  behind  in  their  rapid  flight,  made  a 
fierce  spring  at  the  horse's  head  and  caught  the  bridle  in 
his  teeth,  close  to  the  bit. 

The  horse  stumbled  and  fell,  throwing  his  rider  forward. 

The  man  sprang  up.  The  horse  did  not  rise,  Bruno, 
dragged  down  in  his  fall  lay  partly  under  him.  The  dis- 
comfitted  rider,  muttering  a  deep  curse,  discharged  his 
pistol  a  second  time,  not  at  the  fugitives,  now  out  of  his 
reach,  but  at  the  faithful  animal  that  had  saved  them.  As 
the  report  died  away,  another  sound  was  borne  on  the 
breeze, — one  most  unwelcome  to  the  midnight  marauder. 

It  was  a  clattering  of  hoofs  giving  notice  of  approach  of 
a  body  of  horsemen,  and  in  a  minute  more,  around  a  bend 
of  the  road  leading  from  the  South,  a  dozen  armed  men  carne 
in  sight.  The  starlight,  faint  as  it  was,  showed  plainly  what 
they  were, — a  squad  of  cavalry  returning  to  camp.  Har- 


292  IN  THE  TOILS. 

wood,  for  the  dismounted  horseman  was  no  other,  believed 
with  Hudibras  that 

He  who  fights  and  rung  away 

May  live  to  fight  another  day. 

It  was  the  principle  to  which  he  owed  most  of  his  past 
success,  and  now,-  without  waiting  to  be  interviewed  by  the 
the  new-comers,  he  slipped  behind  the  nearest  boulder, 
lowered  himself  thence  into  a  gully,  cut  by  the  spring 
freshets,  and  following  its  bed  made  his  safe  and  silent  way 
back  to  the  foot-hills. 

The  officer  in  command  of  the  approaching  squad 
quickened  the  speed  of  his  men  at  the  sound  of  pistol-shots. 
He  had  his  private  instructions  from  General  Connor,  and 
now  feared  he  was  too  late  at  the  scene  of  action. 

A  dark  object  lying  across  the  road  was  the  first  thing  that 
met  his  view.  He  turned  the  slide  of  a  dark  lantern  at  his 
saddle-bow  so  that  a  single  ray  fell  upon  it. 

"A  horse  !  Get  down  Saunders  and  see  what  is  the  matter. 
Here,  take  the  light." 

The  man  dismounted  and  after  a  hasty  examination  re 
ported  : 

"  The  horse  has  both  his  knees  broken,  Captain.  There 
is  a  dog,  too — shot  through  the  head." 

"  Well,  put  the  horse  out  of  his  misery,  while  we  look 
for  the  rider." 

As  the  reader  knows,  the  rider  was  by  this  time  safe  from 
their  search  but  a  close  examination  of  the  road,  the  tracks 
behind  the  fallen  horse  and  those  in  front  gave  a  clue 
to  the  facts.  "Nobody  hurt"  was  the  Captain's  final  ver 
dict.  "There  is  no  sign  of  any  struggle  and  no  blood  in 
sight  except  that  of  the  dog.  That  was  a  noble  beast;"  he 
added  looking  down  upon  the  horse,  "and  the  man  that  rode 
him  deserved  to  be  shot  for  leaving  him  to  suffer,  unless  he 


IN  THE  TOILS.  293 

had  uncommon  good  reasons  for  getting  out  of  the  way  in  a 
hurry." 

"Shan't  we  take  the  saddle  Captain?"  asked  one  of  the 
men.  "It  might  be  useful  in  case  that  chap's  friends  should 
come  round  inquiring  for  him." 

"Yes,  take  it.  If  the  owner  wants  it  he  can  advertise  for 
it." 

By  the  time  Captain  McKay  and  his  men  reached  camp, 
Winnie  was  safe  in  her  mothers  arms. 

Safe  for  the  time,  but  neither  mother  nor  daughter  was 
willing  to  risk  remaining  another  night  in  the  city,  and  be 
fore  noon  the  next  day,  General  Connor  received  them  at 

Camp  Douglass. 

********** 

It  is  the  month  of  June  1867,  just  eleven  years  from  the 
ill-fated  day  when  Esther  Wallace  and  her  daughter  stepped 
on  board  the  Western  bound  train  that  carried  them  from 
their  home.  Camp  Douglass  has  become  almost  a  city,  so 
great  is  the  number  of  refugees  who  have  flocked  to  it  to  es 
cape  from  Mormon  tyranny  and  from  the  knife  and  bullet 
of  the  red-handed  Danites — Brigham  Young's  Destroying 
Angels.  Most  of  these  refugees  would  gladly  return  to  the 
States  if  they  could,  and  orders  have  at  length  been  issued  for 
a  military  escort  to  protect  such  as  are  ready  to  undertake  the 
journey  across  the  plains.  On  the  morning  of  which  we 
write,  a  long  train  of  more  than  fifty  wagons,  some  loaded 
with  supplies,  others  carrying  passengers  with  their  baggage, 
formed  in  line  on  the  road  leading  out  of  the  military  reser 
vation.  Mrs.  Wallace  and  Winnie  are  there,  occupying  the 
same  carriage  that  brought  them  to  the  Territory,  and  with 
them  is  Theresa  St.  Clair.  The  two  stalwart  young  men 
on  horseback  are  her  sons.  Jem  holds  the  reins  that  his 
mistress  would  not  think  of  entrusting  to  other  hands,  an<~' 
Aunt  Eunice  sits  beside  him  and  shakes  her  turbaned  head 


294  IN  THE  TOILS. 

solemnly  as  she  points  downward  toward  the  city  they  are 
leaving. 

"Sodom  an  Gormorrer!  Dat's  wat  dey  is.  Sure's  de 
sun  shines  dis  bressed  mornin',  dere's  a  cloud  o'  fire  an' 
brimstun  gwine  to  bust  ober  dar.  'Pears  like  de  Lord  wor 

jest  awaitin'  for  us  to  'scape  outen  de  valley." 

********** 

"AFTER  MANY  DAYS." 

Time,  September,  1870.  Place,  a  little  village  nestled 
between  the  mountain  and  the  river-bank,  on  the  west  side 
of  the  Hudson.  Voyagers  up  and  down  that  river  know 
how  many  nooks,  just  large  enough  to  hold  a  cluster  of  cot 
tages,  can  be  found  on  either  shore  along  the  base  of  the  moun 
tains  that  slope  down  to  the  water's  edge.  In  one  of  these 
nooks,  no  matter  which,  and  in  the  very  prettiest  cottage  of 
the  group,  two  ladies  sat  sewing  in  a  cosy  morning-room 
overlooking  the  river. 

"Oh  mamma"  said  the  younger  of  the  two,  "there  comes 
the  morning  Loat  from  New  York!" 

"Winnie  dear"  said  the  elder  lady  smiling,  "I  shall  have 
to  put  short  frocks  on  you  again.  You  are  so  enthusiastic 
over  the  boats,  our  neighbors  will  not  believe  you  more 
than  ten  years  old.1' 

"Well  mamma,  you  know  I  never  saw  one  till  I  was  twen 
ty;  I  mean  one  like  these." 

At  this  moment  the  door-bell  rang  and  the  young  lady, 
with  the  slightest  perceptible  lightening  of  color,  began  to 
sew  again  industriously. 

A  trim  serving-maid  appeared  directiy  and  ushered  in  a 
gentleman  of  about  thirty,  who  was  welcomed  as  Dr. 
Brownell. 

"Always  busy,  Mrs.  Wallace,  and  you  too,  Miss  Winnie,  " 
he  said  after  the  first  salutation,  "but  I  know  when  I  see 
you  at  work,  that  somebody  is  going  to  receive  substantial 


IN  THE  TOILS.  295 

benefit.  I  have  just  come  from  my  patient  at  Hemlock 
Creek,  and  I  think  I  could  guess  who  made  the  new  clothes 
the  poor  woman's  children  have  on;  —  at  least  I  have  a 
recollection  of  seeing  the  pattern  of  the  goods  before.  " 

"  You  must  be  very  observing,"  said  Winnie  laughing, 
k  and  I  wish  you  would  exercise  your  gift  in  that  respect  for 
my  benefit  just  now  and  tell  me  who  lands  from  the  steam 
boat.  Mamma  won't  let  me  go  down  and  find  out  for  my 
self.  " 

The  doctor  looked  out  of  the  window  and  reported  : 

"  One  fat  woman  with  a  bundle,  three  children  and  a 
young  man  in  a  blue  blouse.  " 

"Anybody  else?  " 

"  No — stop — I  see  a  tall  gentleman  in  a  gray  traveling 
cloak  and  felt  hat.  He  stoops  slightly.  Has  a  cane  and 
walks  slowly.  I  should  say  he  is  either  ill  or  quite  aged.  " 

Why  was  it  that  such  a  sudden  pallor  overspread  the  elder 
woman's  face;  — that  her  heart  throbbed  so  for  a  moment? 
She  could  not  tell  herself.  She  sat  silent,  scarcely  hearing  the 
lively,  bantering  words  of  her  daughter,  who  was  now  asking 
the  doctor  for  a  description  of  something  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river.  The  windows  of  the  room  did  not  afford 
a  view  of  the  road  leading  to  the  front  of  the  house 
and  when  the  shrubbery  hid  the  few  passengers  just  landing 
from  view,  the  doctor  and  Winnie  found  something  else  to 
talk  about. 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  ringing  of  the  bell.  This 
time  when  Jane  made  her  appearance  she  announced  : 

"  A  gentleman  inquiring  for  Mrs.  Wallace.  " 

"  Where  is  he  Jane  ?  " 

"  In  the  parlor.  He  said  he  would  wait  at  the  door,  but 
I  brought  him  in.  He  seemed  ill.  " 

Mrs.  Wallace  had  already  risen  to  go  to  her  visitor.  She 
stopped,  overcome  again  by  an  agitation  for  which  she 


296  IN  THE  TOILS. 

could  not  account.  In  a  moment  she  recovered  her  com 
posure  and  walked  quietly  out  to  the  parlor. 

"  I  wonder  who  mamma's  mysterious  visitor  can  be,  " 
said  Winnie.  The  words  were  scarcely  spoken  when  they 
heard  a  cry,  a  fall,  and  in  the  same  instant  her  mother's 
voice  calling  them.  They  hurried  into  the  parlor.  Mrs. 
Wallace  was  kneeling  on  the  floor  beside  the  figure  of  a 
man,  recognized  by  the  doctor  as  the  tall  stranger  just 
landed  from  the  boat.  His  face  was  ghastly  and  a 
stream  of  blood  which  Mrs.  Wallace  vainly  tried  to  staunch 
flowed  from  his  mouth.  Winnie  gave  a  startled  scream 
then  a  second  glance.  "  Papa  "  she  cried  and  dropped 
down  beside  her  mother. 

Dr.  Brownell  did  a  much  more  sensible  thing ;  —  drew 
his  medicine  case  from  his  pocket  and  taking  Winnie  by  the 
arm  ordered  her,  almost  sharply,  to  go  for  water.  In  a 
little  while  the  remedies,  so  providentially  at  hand  checked 
the  flow  of  blood  and  restored  the  sick  man  to  partial  con 
sciousness.  His  eyes  wandered  vacantly  around  until  they 
rested  on  the  face  that  bent  over  him  ;  —  then,  as  in  that 
other  sickness  long  ago  he  said,  faintly :  "  At  home  ? 
Thank  God!  "  and  closed  his  eyes  again. 

*'  He  must  be  got  to  bed  directly,  "  said  the  doctor.  "  If 
your  man  Jem  is  at  home  let  him  come  in  and  help  me." 

Winnie  went  herself  to  summon  the  needed  help,  and  Jem, 
too  much  astonished  to  ask  any  questions,  carried  his  old 
master  into  the  next  room  and  with  the  doctor's  help  un 
dressed  him  and  made  him  comfortable  in  bed. 

"  I  have  done  all  I  can  do  at  present,  "  Dr.  Brownell  said 
as  he  returned  to  the  parlor,  "  I  will  come  in  again  this 
afternoon,  and  in  the  meantime  he  must  have  perfect  quiet. 
Let  only  one  person  sit  with  him  and  do  not  allow  him  to 
talk.  The  least  excitment  may  bring  on  the  hemorrhage.  " 

"  I  will  sit  with  him.  " 


IN  THE  TOILS.  297 

Mrs.  Wallace  spoke  as  calmly  as  though  the  patient  were 
a  stranger. 

"We  are  much  indebted  to  you,  doctor.  You  will  b-' 
certain  to  come  early  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  fail.  " 

Mrs.  Wallace  entered  the  bed-room,  closing  the  door 
behind  her. 

Winnie  looked  up.  ''Dr.  Brownell,  "  she  said,  "You 
know  something  of  our  unhappy  history  and  will  not  wonder 
at  anything  you  have  seen  or  heard  to-day.  I  am  so  thank 
ful  that  it  was  you  and  not  a  stranger  who  happened  to  be 
present.  " 

"  It  is  I  who  should  be  thankful  for  the  privilege  of  serv 
ing  you.  The  tone  in  which  he  spoke  these  commonplace 
words,  brought  the  color  into  Winnie's  pale  face,  but  she 
only  answered  : 

"  You  can  serve  us  in  more  ways  than  one.  I  am  certain 
we  can  reply  on  you  to  protect  us  from  gossip  which  would 
be  very  painful  just  now.  " 

"  There  is  nothing  in  my  power  to  do  for  you  which  you 
cannot  reply  on  me  for.  " 

And  having  had  the  satisfaction  of  watching  the  effect  of 
his  words  a  second  time,  the  doctor  took  his  leave,  repeating 
his  promise  to  call  early  in  the  afternoon. 

Two  or  three  days  passed  and  the  sick  man  improved  so 
far  as  to  be  able  to  sit  up. 

The  doctor  removed  his  interdict  regarding  conversation 
only  sipulating  that  his  patient  should  not  be  excited. 

This  stipulaton  was   not  likely  to  be  disregarded   by  his 
wife  who  sat  beside  him  outwardly  as  calm  as  though  noth 
ing  had  disturbed  the  smooth  current  of  their  lives,  or  by  the 
daughter  who,  controlled  by  her  mother,  looked  and  spoke 
as  though  they  had  never  been  separated, 

Thus  far,  the  only  allusion  made  by  either  of  them  to  the 


298  IN  THE  TOILS. 

shadow  that  darkened  this  pathway  was  when  Wallace  first 
grew  strong  enough  to  speak. 

It  was  night  and  waking  from  a  brief  slumber  he  saw  his 
wife  watching  beside  his  pillows.  "  Esther,  "  he  said, 
bringing  out  the  words  with  a  slow,  painful  utterance:  "  I 
have  come  home  to  die.  You  will  not  send  me  away  ?  " 

For  answer,  she  took  his  wasted  hands,  in  both  of  her's 
and  repeated  solemnly : 

"  God  do  so  unto  me  and  more  also,  if  aught  but  death 
part  thee  and  me.  " 

Since  the  end  was  so  near,  why  not  let  the  dark  past  be 
as  though  it  had  never  been  !  Esther  saw  in  the  dying  man 
only  the  husband  of  her  youth,  the  father  of  her  children. 
The  face  of  the  fair-haired  baby  that  slept  under  the  violets* 
that  face  so  like  the  father  s  own,  rose  up  before  her  when 
ever  her  eyes  fell  upon  that  other  face  lying  so  white  and 
wasted  on  the  pillow. 

The  sad  violet  eyes  had  in  them  the  look  which  had  fol 
lowed  her  so  many  years; — -the  piteous,  appealing  look  with 
which  her  baby  made  his  mute  plea  for  help  when  struggling 
with  the  destroyer. 

She  asked  no  questions  about  the  intervening  years ; 
— would  listen  to  no  self-acusations  from  those  white  lips. 
The  one  thing  that  gave  her  disquiet,  the  only  thing  about 
which  she  wished  to  hear  him  speak,  was  the  false  faith, 
whose  blighting  power  she  hoped  was  forever  broken. 
Was  it  so  ?  Had  the  wanderer  come  to  himself  and  found 
his  way  back  to  his  father's  house  ?  How  should  she  learn 
and  yet  keep  the  promise  that  nothing  should  be  allowed  to 
disturb  him  ? 

She  was  pondering  this  one  bright  afternoon  when  he  was 
so  much  better  that  he  asked  to  be  moved  to  the  windows 
overlooking  the  river. 

His  eyes  wandered  up  and  down  over  the  autumn  land- 


IN  THE  TOILS.  299 

scape,  so  unlike  anything  he  had  seen  for  years.  The 
river-bank  was  a  bewildering  maze  of  orange  and  scarlet,  of 
deep  crimson  and  pale  yellow,  broken  here  and  thereby  the 
dark  green  of  a  clump  of  cedars.  He  sat  a  long  time  silent: 
At  length,  pointing  to  a  group  of  trees  beyond  the  lawn 
he  said  : 

"  What  a  vivid  color  those  trees  have  !  It  seems  as  though 
I  never  knew  before  what  crimson  and  scarlet  meant.  " 

Then  turning  his  head  slowly  and  facing  her: 

"  Esther,  there  were  years  when  I  could  not  bear  to  look 
on  those  colors, — you  know  why,  —  but  now  there  is  one 
verse  of  holy  scripture  that  is  above  all  price  to  me. 
'Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  white  as  snow ; 
though  they  be  red  like  crimson,  they  shall  be  as  wool,'  — 
and  there  is  another, — one  that  has  saved  me  from  despair, 
'Father,  forgive  them.  They  know  not  what  they  do.' 
Esther, — wife — there  were  many  years  when  I  knew  not 
what  I  did.  " 

She  took  his  hands  in  hers.  For  his  sake  she  must  be 
calm,  but  in  spite  of  every  effort  her  eyes  filled  and  her 
voice  trembled  as  she  answered : 

"  I  know  that  and  surely  God  knows.  If  I  am  so  glad  to 
have  you  here  at  home,  think  how  glad  He  is  that  you  have 
come  home  to  Him.  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  Wallace  said : 

"  Since  I  have  been  lying  here  so  helpless,  how  thankful 
I  have  been  that  in  my  childhood  I  learned  so  many  chap 
ters  of  the  Holy  Book  by  heart.  I  have  not  dared  to  open 
it  for  years,  but  now  the  story  of  the  prodigal  who  came 
home  and  was  received  so  joyfully,  and  of  the  good  Shep 
herd  who  went  out  into  the  mountains  seeking  his  lost 
sheep,  come  back  to  me  as  though  I  had  read  them  yester 
day.  " 

They  talked  freely  of  the  past  and  of  the  future  and  the 


300  IN  THE  TOILS. 

pale  face  of  the  invalid  grew  so  much  calmer  and  brighter 
that  Winnie  said  to  Dr.  Brownell : 

"  Surely  papa  is  better.  " 

The  doctor  looked  grave.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you 
the  truth  ?  " 

"Yes," 

"  I  have  tried  to  be  candid  with  all  of  you  from  the  first. 
There  is  not  the  shadow  of  a  hope  that  your  father  will 
recover.  With  such  care  as  he  has,  he  may  last  a  month 
but  even  that  is  doubtful.  " 

Winnie's  tears  fell  fast. 

"  Does  my  mother  know  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes.     She  has  known  all  along." 

"  Does  papa  know  it  himself  ?  " 

"  He  does.  And  if  you  could  realize  how  glad  he  is  to 
be  so  near  the  end  of  all  strife  and  unrest,  you  would 
rejoice  with  him." 

The  days  grew  into  weeks.  The  weather  had  become 
much  colder,  and  the  sick  man  no  longer  left  his  bed.  The 
end  was  not  far  off.  It  came  one  wild  November  night 
when  the  rain  beat  against  the  windows,  and  fierce  gusts 
shook  the  leafless  branches  of  the  trees  outside. 

Wife  and  daughter,  one  on  either  side  watched  every 
change  in  the  beloved  face.  The  servants  who  had  shared 
their  changing  fortune  so  many  years,  stood  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  The  doctor  sat  beside  the  dying  man's  pillow. 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  "God  is  so  good,' 
he  said,  "so  much  better  than  my  deserts,  so  much  better 
than  my  fears,  He  lets  me  die  at  home."  He  closed  his 
eyes  and  murmured  indistinctly.  His  mind  seemed 
wandering  among  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood.  All  at  once 
a  bright  smile  illumined  his  face.  He  held  out  his  arms 
and  said,  "  Arthur  !  Papa's  boy  !  Come  to  papa,  darling  !  " 

Then  sinking  back  he  slept  again. 


IN    THE  TOILS.  301 

Rousing  after  a  few  minutes,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  his 
wife's  face  with  a  clear,  conscious  look. 

"Esther,"  he  said,  "I  thought  I  saw  our  baby — little 
rthur.  He  held  out  his  hands  just  as  he  used  to,  and  was 
o  glad  to  see  me.  I  know  he  will  be  glad."  Winnie's  sobs 
made  him  turn  towards  her. 

"  Winnie,  darling,  come  closer.  Say  good-bye  to  papa. 
Papa  always  loved  his  little  daughter.  Esther,  beloved,  it 
grows  dark  but  I  see  your  face  yet." 

There  was  a  single  deep  drawn  breath ; — his  head  fell 
back  upon  his  wife's  bosom,  and  there  was  silence. 

The  storm-tossed  soul  had  reached  the  desired  haven. 


THE  END. 


18128 


